THE  STRENGTH 
OF  THE  PJ 


EX  LIBRIS 


THE  STRENGTH  OF  THE  PINES 


He  marked  the  little  space  of  gray  squarely  between  the 
two  reddening  eyes.     FRONTISPIECE.     See  page  305. 


THE  STRENGTH  OF 
THE  PINES 


BY 


EDISON  MARSHALL 


WITH    FRONTISPIECE    BY 

W.  HERBERT  DUNTON 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1921 


Copyright,  1921, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved 
Published  February,  1921 


THE   COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  H.   SIMONDS   CO.,    BOSTON,   U.  8.  A. 


TO 

LILLE  BARTOO  MARSHALL 

DEAR  COMRADE  AND  GUIDE 
WHO  GAVE  ME  LIFE 


^385 


irroo 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  ONE 

PAGE" 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD 1 

BOOK  TWO 
THE  BLOOD  ATONEMENT 87 

BOOK  THREE 

THE  COMING  OF  THE  STRENGTH       .    . 


THE  STRENGTH  OF 
THE  PINES 

BOOK  ONE, 
THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD 


BRUCE  was  wakened  by  the  sharp  ring  of  his 
telephone  bell.  He  heard  its  first  note;  and  its 
jingle  seemed  to  continue  endlessly.  There  was  no 
period  of  drowsiness  between  sleep  and  wakeful- 
ness;  instantly  he  was  fully  aroused,  in  complete 
control  of  allhis  faculties.  And  this  is  not  espe- 
cially common  to  men  bred  in  the  security  of  civili- 
zation. Rather  it  is  a  trait  of  the  wild  creatures; 
a  little  matter  that  is  quite  necessary  if  they  care  at 
all  about  living.  A  deer,  for  instance,  that  cannot 
leap  out  of  a  mid-afternoon  nap,  soar  a  fair  ten  feet 
in  the  air,  and  come  down  with  legs  in  the  right  posi- 
tion for  running  comes  to  a  sad  end,  rather  soon,  in 
a  puma's  claws.  Frontiersmen  learn  the  trait  too ; 
but  as  Bruce  was  a  dweller  of  cities  it  seemed  some- 
what strange  in  him.  The  trim,  hard  muscles  were 
all  cocked  and  primed  for  anything  they  should  be 
told  to  do. 


2          The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

Then  he  grunted  rebelliously  and  glanced  at  his 
watch  beneath  the  pillow.  He  had  gone  to  bed 
early;  it  was  just  before  midnight  now.  "  I  wish 
they  'd  leave  me  alone  at  night,  anyway,"  he  mut- 
tered, as  he  slipped  on  his  dressing  gown. 

He  had  no  doubts  whatever  concerning  the  na- 
ture of  this  call.  There  had  been  one  hundred  like 
it  during  the  previous  month.  His  foster  father 
had  recently  died,  his  estate  was  being  settled  up, 
and  Bruce  had  been  having  a  somewhat  strenuous 
time  with  his  creditors.  He  understood  the  man's 
real  financial  situation  at  last ;  at  his  death  the  whole 
business  structure  collapsed  like  the  eggshell  it  was. 
Bruce  had  supposed  that  most  of  the  debts  had  been 
paid  by  now;  he  wondered,  as  he  fumbled  into  his 
bedroom  slippers,  whether  the  thousand  or  so  dol- 
lars that  were  left  would  cover  the  claim  of  the  man 
who  was  now  calling  him  to  the  telephone.  The 
fact  that  he  was,  at  last,  the  penniless  "  beggar  " 
that  Duncan  had  called  him  at  their  first  meeting 
did  n't  matter  one  way  or  another.  For  some  years 
he  had  not  hoped  for  help  from  his  foster  parent. 
The  collapse  of  the  latter 's  business  had  put  Bruce 
out  of  work,  but  that  was  just  a  detail  too.  All 
he  wanted  now  was  to  get  things  straightened  up 
and  go  away  —  where,  he  did  not  know  or  care. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Duncan,"  he  said  coldly  into  the 
transmitter. 

When  he  heard  a  voice  come  scratching  over  the 
wires,  he  felt  sure  that  he  had  guessed  right.  Quite 
often  his  foster  father's  creditors  talked  in  that 
same  excited,  hurried  way.  It  was  rather  neces- 


The  Call  of  the  Blood  3 

sary  to  be  hurried  and  excited  if  a  claim  were  to  be 
met  before  the  dwindling  financial  resources  were 
exhausted.  But  the  words  themselves,  however  — 
as  soon  as  they  gave  their  interpretation  in  his  brain 
—  threw  a  different  light  on  the  matter. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Duncan,"  the  voice  an- 
swered. "  Pardon  me  if  I  got  you  up.  I  want 
to  talk  to  your  son,  Bruce." 

Bruce  emitted  a  little  gasp  of  amazement. 
Whoever  talked  at  the  end  of  the  line  obviously 
didn't  know  that  the  elder  Duncan  was  dead. 
Bruce  had  a  moment  of  grim  humor  in  which  he 
mused  that  this  voice  would  have  done  rather  well 
if  it  could  arouse  his  foster  father  to  answer  it. 
"  The  elder  Mr.  Duncan  died  last  month,"  he  an- 
swered simply.  There  was  not  the  slightest  trace 
of  emotion  in  his  tone.  No  wayfarer  on  the  street 
could  have  been,  as  far  as  facts  went,  more  of  a 
stranger  to  him;  there  was  no  sense  of  loss  at  his 
death  and  no  cause  for  pretense  now.  '  This  is 
Bruce  speaking." 

He  heard  the  other  gasp.  "  Old  man,  I  'm 
sorry,"  his  contrite  voice  came.  "  I  did  n't  know 
of  your  loss.  This  is  Barney  —  Barney  Wegan  — 
and  I  just  got  in  from  the  West.  Have  n't  had  a 
bit  of  news  for  months.  Accept  my  earnest  sym- 
pathies —  " 

"Barney!  Of  course."  The  delight  grew  on 
Bruce's  face;  for  Barney  Wegan,  a  man  whom  he 
had  met  and  learned  to  know  on  the  gym  floor  of 
his  club,  was  quite  near  to  being  a  real  friend. 
"  And  what 's  up,  Barney?  " 


4          The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

The  man's  voice  changed  at  once  —  went  back 
to  its  same  urgent,  but  rather  embarrassed  tone. 
"  You  won't  believe  me  if  I  tell  you,  so  I  won't  try 
to  tell  you  over  the  'phone.  But  I  must  come  up  — 
right  away.  May  I  ?  " 

"Of  course  — " 

"  I  '11  jump  in  my  car  and  be  there  in  a  minute." 

Bruce  hung  up,  slowly  descended  to  his  library, 
and  flashed  on  the  lights. 

For  the  first  time  he  was  revealed  plainly.  His 
was  a  familiar  type ;  but  at  the  same  time  the  best 
type  too.  He  had  the  face  and  the  body  of  an 
athlete,  a  man  who  keeps  himself  fit ;  and  there  was 
nothing  mawkish  or  effeminate  about  him.  His 
dark  hair  was  clipped  close  about  his  temples,  and 
even  two  hours  in  bed  had  not  disarranged  its  care- 
ful part.  It  is  true  that  men  did  look  twice  at 
Bruce's  eyes,  set  in  a  brown,  clean-cut  face,  never 
knowing  exactly  why  they  did  so.  They  had  star- 
tling potentialities.  They  were  quite  clear  now, 
wide-awake  and  cool,  yet  they  had  a  strange  depth 
of  expression  and  shadow  that  might  mean,  some- 
where beneath  the  bland  and  cool  exterior,  a  capac- 
ity for  great  emotions  and  passions. 

He  had  only  a  few  minutes  to  wait;  then  Barney 
Wegan  tapped  at  his  door.  This  man  was  bronzed 
by  the  sun,  never  more  fit,  never  straighter  and 
taller  and  more  lithe.  He  had  just  come  from  the 
far  places.  The  embarrassment  that  Bruce  had 
detected  in  his  voice  was  in  his  face  and  manner  too. 

'  You  '11  think  I  'm  crazy,  for  routing  you  out 
at  this  time  of  night,  Bruce,"  he  began.  "  And 


The   Call  of  the  Blood  5 

I  'm  going  to  get  this  matter  off  my  chest  as  soon 
as  possible  and  let  you  go  to  bed.  It 's  all  batty, 
anyway.  But  I  was  cautioned  by  all  the  devils 
of  the  deep  to  see  you  —  the  moment  I  came 
here." 

"  Cigarettes  on  the  smoking-stand,"  Bruce  said 
steadily.  "  And  tell  away." 

"  But  tell  me  something  first.  Was  Duncan 
your  real  father?  If  he  was,  I  '11  know  I  'm  up  a 
wrong  tree.  I  don't  mean  to  be  personal  - 

"  He  was  n't.  I  thought  you  knew  it.  My  real 
father  is  something  like  you  —  something  of  a 
mystery." 

"  I  won't  be  a  mystery  long.  He  's  not,  eh  — 
that 's  what  the  old  hag  said.  Excuse  me,  old  man, 
for  saying  '  hag.'  But  she  was  one,  if  there  is  any 
such.  Lord  knows  who  she  is,  or  whether  or  not 
she  's  a  relation  of  yours.  But  I  '11  begin  at  the  be- 
ginning. You  know  I  was  way  back  on  the  Oregon 
frontier  —  back  in  the  Cascades?" 

"  I  did  n't  know,"  Bruce  replied.  "  I  knew  you 
were  somewhere  in  the  wilds.  You  always  are. 
Go  on." 

"  I  was  back  there  fishing  for  steelhead  in  a  river 
they  call  the  Rogue.  My  boy,  a  steelhead  is  —  but 
you  don't  want  to  hear  that.  You  want  to  get  the 
story.  But  a  steelhead,  you  ought  to  know,  is  a 
trout  —  a  fish  —  and  the  noblest  fish  that  ever  was ! 
Oh,  Heavens  above!  how  they  can  strike!  But 
while  way  up  on  the  upper  waters  I  heard  of  a  place 
called  Trail's  End  —  a  place  where  wise  men  do 
not  go." 


6          The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

"  And  of  course  you  went." 

"  Of  course.  The  name  sounds  silly  now,  but 
it  won't  if  you  ever  go  there.  There  are  only  a  few 
families,  Bruce,  miles  and  miles  apart,  in  the  whole 
region.  And  it 's  enormous  —  no  one  knows  how 
big.  Just  ridge  on  ridge.  And  I  went  back  to 
kill  a  bear." 

"But  stop!"  Bruce  commanded.  He  lighted 
a  cigarette.  "  I  thought  you  were  against  killing 
bears  —  any  except  the  big  boys  up  North." 

"  That 's  just  it.  I  am  against  killing  the  little 
black  fellows  —  they  are  the  only  folk  with  any 
brains  in  the  woods.  But  this,  Bruce,  was  a  real 
bear,  —  a  left-over  from  fifty  years  ago.  There 
used  to  be  grizzlies  through  that  country,  you  see, 
but  everybody  supposed  that  the  last  of  them  had 
been  shot.  But  evidently  there  was  one  family  that 
still  remained  —  in  the  farthest  recesses  of  Trail's 
End  —  and  all  at  once  the  biggest,  meanest  grizzly 
ever  remembered  showed  up  on  the  cattle  ranges  of 
the  plateau.  With  some  others,  I  went  to  get  him. 
'  The  Killer ',  they  call  him  —  and  he  certainly  is 
death  on  live  stock.  I  did  n't  get  the  bear,  but  one 
day  my  guide  stopped  at  a  broken-down  old  cabin 
on  the  hillside  for  a  drink  of  water.  I  was  four 
miles  away  in  camp.  The  guide  came  back  and 
asked  me  if  I  was  from  this  very  city. 

"  I  told  him  yes,  and  asked  him  why  he  wanted 
to  know.  He  said  that  this  old  woman  sent  word, 
secretly,  to  every  stranger  that  ever  came  to  fish  or 
hunt  in  the  region  of  Trail's  End,  wanting  to  know 
if  they  came  from  here.  I  was  the  first  one  that 


The   Call  of  the   Blood  7 

answered '  yes.'  And  the  guide  said  that  she  wanted 
me  to  come  to  her  cabin  and  see  her. 

"  I  went  —  and  I  won't  describe  to  you  how  she 
looked.  I  '11  let  you  see  for  yourself,  if  you  care  to 
follow  out  her  instructions.  And  now  the  strange 
part  comes  in.  The  old  witch  raised  her  arm, 
pointed  her  cane  at  me,  and  asked  me  if  I  knew 
Newton  Duncan. 

"  I  told  her  there  might  be  several  Newton  Dun- 
cans in  a  city  this  size.  You  should  have  seen  the 
pain  grow  on  her  face.  *  After  so  long,  after  so 
long ! '  she  cried,  in  the  queerest,  sobbing  way.  She 
seemed  to  have  waited  years  to  find  some  one 
from  here,  and  when  I  came  I  did  n't  know  what 
she  wanted.  Then  she  took  heart  and  began 
again. 

"  '  This  Newton  Duncan  had  a  son  —  a  foster- 
son —  named  Bruce,'  she  told  me.  And  then  I 
said  I  knew  you. 

"  You  can't  imagine  the  change  that  came  over 
her.  I  thought  she  'd  die  of  heart  failure.  The 
whole  thing,  Bruce  —  if  you  must  know  —  gave  me 
the  creeps.  4  Tell  him  to  come  here,'  she  begged 
me.  '  Don't  lose  a  moment.  As  soon  as  you  get 
home,  tell  him  to  come  here.' 

"  Of  course  I  asked  other  questions,  but  I 
could  n't  get  much  out  of  her.  One  of  'em  was  why 
she  hadn't  written  to  Duncan.  The  answer  was 
simple  enough  —  that  she  didn't  know  how  to 
write.  Those  in  the  mountains  that  could  write 
would  n't,  or  could  n't  —  she  was  a  trifle  vague  on 
that  point  —  dispatch  a  letter.  Something  is  up, 


8          The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

Bruce,  and  I  don't  know  what.  But  she  said  — 
for  you  to  come  back  and  find  —  Linda." 

Bruce  suddenly  leaned  forward.  If  Barney  had 
been  surprised  by  the  developments  in  the  mountain 
cabin,  he  was  more  surprised  now.  The  brown  face 
had  suddenly  grown  quite  white. 

"  What  else  did  she  say? "  Bruce  asked.  He 
spoke  slowly  —  with  evident  difficulty. 

Barney  answered  with  the  same  slowness  —  each 
word  distinct.  "  For  you  to  come  —  and  she  made 
me  swear  to  tell  you  —  on  the  first  train.  That 
there  was  no  time  to  lose."  The  man's  voice  broke 
and  changed.  "Isn't  that  queer,  Bruce?" 

Bruce  slowly  stiffened;  the  only  sign  of  emotion 
was  one  that  even  Barney's  eyes,  trained  to  the  dim- 
ness of  the  wilderness,  failed  to  see.  It  was  just  an 
ever-tightening  clasp  of  his  hands  over  the  chair 
arms  until  the  blue  veins  stood  out.  There  was 
nothing  else  about  him  to  indicate  that  the  dead  had 
spoken  to  him,  —  that  one  of  the  great  dreams  of 
his  life  was  coming  true.  He  spoke  rather  pain- 
fully. "  Did  —  did  you  get  the  idea  that  the  old 
woman  was  Linda? " 

"  I  did  n't  get  that  idea,"  Barney  answered. 
"  She  spoke  of  Linda  as  she  might  of  a  young  girl." 

"  And  how  do  you  get  there?  " 

"  Buy  a  ticket  for  Deer  Creek,  in  Southern  Ore- 
gon." There  was  no  need  for  Bruce  to  write  the 
name.  It  was  branded,  ineffaceably,  in  his  con- 
sciousness. '  Then  take  up  the  long  road  of  the 
Divide,  clear  to  a  little  store  —  Martin's,  they  call 
it  —  fifty  miles  back.  Then  ask  directions  from 


The   Call   of  the   Blood  9 

there.  Ask,  she  told  me  to  tell  you,  for  Mrs. 
Ross." 

Bruce  leaped  up  and  turned  swiftly  through  the 
door.  Barney  called  a  question  to  his  vanishing 
figure.  Just  for  an  instant  Bruce  turned,  —  his 
dark  eyes  glowing  beneath  his  straight  brows. 

"  I  'm  'phoning  —  asking  for  reservations  on  the 
first  train  West,"  he  answered. 


II 

BEFORE  the  gray  of  dawn  came  over  the  land 
Bruce  Duncan  had  started  westward.  He  had  no 
self-amazement  at  the  lightning  decision.  He  was 
only  strangely  and  deeply  exultant. 

The  reasons  why  went  too  deep  within  him  to  be 
easily  seen.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  adventure  — 
and  Bruce 's  life  had  not  been  very  adventurous 
heretofore.  It  was  true  that  he  had  known 
triumphs  on  the  athletic  fields,  and  his  first  days  at 
a  great  University  had  been  novel  and  entertain- 
ing. But  now  he  was  going  to  the  West,  to  a  land 
he  had  dreamed  about,  the  land  of  wide  spaces  and 
great  opportunities.  It  was  not  his  first  western 
journey.  Often  he  had  gone  there  as  a  child  — 
had  engaged  in  furious  battles  with  outlaws  and  In- 
dians; but  those  had  been  adventures  of  imagina- 
tion cnly.  This  was  reality  at  last.  The  clicking 
rails  beneath  the  speeding  train  left  no  chance  for 
doubt. 

Then  there  was  a  sense  of  immeasurable  relief  at 
his  sudden  and  unexpected  freedom  from  the  finan- 
cial problems  his  father  had  left.  He  would  have 
no  more  consultations  with  impatient  creditors, 
no  more  would  he  strive  to  gather  together  the 
ruins  of  the  business,  and  attempt  to  salvage  the 
small  remaining  fragments  of  his  father's  fortune. 
He  was  free  of  it  all,  at  last.  He  had  never  known 


The   Call  of  the   Blood  1 1 

a  darker  hour  —  and  none  of  them  that  this  quiet, 
lonely-spirited  man  had  known  had  been  very 
bright  —  than  the  one  he  had  spent  just  before  go- 
ing to  bed  earlier  that  evening.  He  had  no  plans, 
he  did  n't  know  which  way  to  turn.  All  at  once, 
through  the  message  that  Barney  had  brought  him, 
he  had  seen  a  clear  trail  ahead.  It  was  something 
to  do,  something  at  last  that  mattered. 

Finally  there  remained  the  eminent  fact  that  this 
was  an  answer  to  his  dream.  He  was  going  toward 
Linda,  at  last.  The  girl  had  been  the  one  living 
creature  in  his  memory  that  he  had  cared  for  and 
who  cared  for  him  —  the  one  person  whose  interest 
in  him  was  real.  Men  are  a  gregarious  species. 
The  trails  are  bewildering  and  steep  to  one  who 
travels  them  alone.  Linda,  the  little  "  spitfire  "  of 
his  boyhood,  had  suddenly  become  the  one  reality 
in  his  world,  and  as  he  thought  of  her,  his  memory 
reviewed  the  few  impressions  he  had  retained  of 
his  childhood. 

First  was  the  Square  House  —  the  orphanage 
—  where  the  Woman  had  turned  him  over  to  the 
nurse  in  charge.  Sometimes,  when  tobacco  smoke 
was  heavy  upon  him,  Bruce  could  catch  very  dim 
and  fleeting  glimpses  of  the  Woman's  face.  He 
would  bend  his  mind  to  it,  he  would  probe  and 
probe,  with  little,  reaching  filaments  of  thought, 
into  the  dead  years  —  and  then,  all  at  once,  the  fila- 
ments would  rush  together,  catch  hold  of  a  frag- 
ment of  her  picture,  and  like  a  chain-gang  of  ants 
carrying  a  straw,  come  lugging  it  up  for  him  to  see. 
It  was  only  a  fleeting  glimpse,  only  the  faintest  blur 


i  2        The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

in  half-tone,  and  then  quite  gone.  Yet  he  never 
gave  up  trying.  He  never  quit  longing  for  just 
one  second  of  vivid  rerr  ^mbrance.  It  was  one  of 
the  few  and  really  great  desires  that  Bruce  had  in 
life. 

The  few  times  that  her  memory-picture  did  come 
to  him,  it  brought  a  number  of  things  with  it.  One 
of  them  was  a  great  and 'overwhelming  realization 
of  some  terrible  tragedy  and  terror  the  nature  of 
which  he  could  not  even  guess.  There  had  been 
terrible  and  tragic  events  —  where  and  how  he 
could  not  guess  —  lost  in^  those  forgotten  days  of 
his  babyhood. 

"  She  's  been  through  fire,"  the  nurse  told  the 
doctor  when  he  came  in  and  the  door  had  closed 
behind  the  Woman.  Bruce  did  remember  these 
words,  because  many  years  elapsed  before  he  com- 
pletely puzzled  them  out.  The  nurse  had  n't  meant 
such  fires  as  swept  through  the  far-spread  ever- 
green forests  of  the  Northwest.  It  was  some  other, 
dread  fire  that  seared  the  spirit  and  burned  the 
bloom  out  of  the  face  and  all  the  gentle  lights  out 
of  the  eyes.  It  did,  however,  leave  certain  lights, 
but  they  were  such  that  their  remembrance  brought 
no  pleasure  to  Bruce.  They  were  just  a  wild  glare, 
a  fixed,  strange  brightness  as  of  great  fear  or  in- 
sanity. 

The  Woman  had  kissed  him  and  gone  quickly; 
and  he  had  been  too  young  to  remember  if  she  had 
carried  any  sort  of  bundle  close  to  her  breast. 
Yet,  the  man  considered,  there  must  have  been  such 
a  bundle  —  otherwise  he  could  n't  possibly  account 


The   Call   of  the   Blood  1 3 

for  Linda.  And  there  were  no  doubts  about  her,  at 
all.  Her  picture  was  always  on  the  first  page  of 
the  photograph  album  of  his  memory;  he  had  only 
to  turn  over  one  little  sheet  of  years  to  find  her. 

Of  course  he  had  no  memories  of  her  that  first 
day,  nor  for  the  first  years.  But  all  later  memories 
of  the  Square  House  always  included  her.  She 
must  have  been  nearly  four  years  younger  than  him- 
self ;  thus  when  he  was  taken  to  the  house  she  was 
only  an  infant.  But  thereafter,  the  nurses  put 
them  together  often;  and  when  Linda  was  able  to 
talk,  she  called  him  something  that  sounded  like 
Bwovaboo.  She  called  him  that  so  often  that  for 
a  long  time  he  could  n't  be  sure  that  was  n't  his  real 
name.  Now,  in  manhood,  he  interpreted. 

"  Brother  Bruce,  of  course.  Linda  was  of  course 
a  sister." 

Linda  had  been  homely;  even  a  small  boy  could 
notice  that.  Besides,  Linda  was  nearly  six  when 
Bruce  had  left  for  good ;  and  he  was  then  at  an  age 
in  which  impressions  begin  to  be  lasting.  Her  hair 
was  quite  blond  then,  and  her  features  rather  irreg- 
ular. But  there  had  been  a  light  in  her  eyes !  By 
his  word,  there  had  been! 

She  had  been  angry  at  him  times  in  plenty  — 
over  some  childish  game  —  and  he  remembered  how 
that  light  had  grown  and  brightened.  She  had  flung 
at  him  too,  like  a  lynx  springing  from  a  tree.  Bruce 
paused  in  his  reflections  to  wonder  at  himself  over 
the  simile  —  for  lynx  were  no  especial  acquaint- 
ances of  his.  He  knew  them  only  through  books, 
as  he  knew  many  other  things  that  stirred  Hs  imag- 


14       The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

ination.  But  he  laughed  at  the  memory  of  her 
sudden,  explosive  ferocity,  —  the  way  her  hands 
had  smacked  against  his  cheeks,  and  her  sharp  little 
nails  had  scratched  him.  Curiously,  he  had  never 
fought  back  as  is  the  usual  thing  between  small 
boys  and  small  girls.  And  it  was  n't  exactly  chiv- 
alry either,  rather  just  an  inability  to  feel  resent- 
ment. Besides,  there  were  always  tears  and  repent- 
ance afterward,  and  certain  pettings  that  he 
openly  scorned  and  secretly  loved. 

"I  must  have  been  a  strange  kid!"  Bruce 
thought. 

It  was  true  he  had;  and  nothing  was  stranger 
than  this  attitude  toward  Baby  Sister.  He  was 
always  so  gentle  with  her,  but  at  the  same  time  he 
contemplated  her  with  a  sort  of  amused  tolerance 
that  is  to  be  expected  in  strong  men  rather  than 
solemn  little  boys.  "  Little  Spitfire  "  he  some- 
times called  her ;  but  no  one  else  could  call  her  any- 
thing but  Linda.  For  Bruce  had  been  an  able 
little  fighter,  even  in  those  days. 

There  was  other  evidence  of  strangeness.  He 
was  fond  of  drawing  pictures.  This  was  nothing 
in  itself;  many  little  boys  are  fond  of  drawing  pic- 
tures. Nor  were  his  unusually  good.  Their 
strangeness  lay  in  his  subjects.  He  liked  to  draw 
animals  in  particular,  —  the  animals  he  read  about 
in  school  and  in  such  books  as  were  brought  to  him. 
And  sometimes  he  drew  Indians  and  cowboys. 
And  one  day  —  when  he  was  n't  half  watching 
what  he  was  doing  —  he  drew  something  quite  dif- 
ferent. 


The   Call   of  the   Blood  15 

Perhaps  he  would  n't  have  looked  at  it  twice,  if 
the  teacher  had  n't  stepped  up  behind  him  and  taken 
it  out  of  his  hands.  It  was  "  geography  "  then, 
not  "  drawing  ",  and  he  should  have  been  "  paying 
attention."  And  he  had  every  reason  to  think  that 
the  teacher  would  crumple  up  his  picture  and  send 
him  to  the  cloak-room  for  punishment. 

But  she  did  no  such  thing.  It  was  true  that  she 
seized  the  paper,  and  her  fingers  were  all  set  to 
crumple  it.  But  when  her  eyes  glanced  down,  her 
fingers  slowly  straightened.  Then  she  looked 
again  —  carefully. 

"What  is  this,  Bruce?"  she  asked.  "What 
have  you  been  drawing?  " 

Curiously,  she  had  quite  forgotten  to  scold  him 
for  not  paying  attention.  And  Bruce,  who  had 
drawn  the  picture  with  his  thoughts  far  away  from 
his  pencil,  had  to  look  and  see  himself.  Then  he 
could  n't  be  sure. 

"I  —  I  don't  know,"  the  child  answered.  But 
the  picture  was  even  better  than  his  more  conscious 
drawings,  and  it  did  look  like  something.  He 
looked  again,  and  for  an  instant  let  his  thoughts  go 
wandering  here  and  there.  '  Those  are  trees,"  he 
said.  A  word  caught  at  his  throat  and  he  blurted  it 
out.  "  Pines!  Pine  trees,  growing  on  a  mountain." 

Once  translated,  the  picture  could  hardly  be  mis- 
taken. There  was  a  range  of  mountains  in  the 
background,  and  a  distinct  sky  line  plumed  with 
pines,  —  those  tall,  dark  trees  that  symbolize,  above 
all  other  trees,  the  wilderness. 

"  Not  bad  for  a  six-year-old  boy,"  the  teacher 


1 6        The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

commented.  "  But  where,  Bruce,  have  you  ever 
seen  or  heard  of  such  pines?  "  But  Bruce  did  not 
know. 

Another  puzzling  adventure  that  stuck  in  Bruce's 
memory  had  happened  only  a  few  months  after  his 
arrival  at  the  Square  House  when  a  man  had  taken 
him  home  on  trial  with  the  idea  of  adoption.  Adop- 
tion, little  Bruce  had  gathered,  was  something  like 
heaven,  —  a  glorious  and  happy  end  of  all  trouble 
and  unpleasantness.  Such  was  the  idea  he  got 
from  the  talk  of  the  other  orphans,  and  even  from 
the  grown-ups  who  conducted  the  establishment. 

All  the  incidents  and  details  of  the  excursion  with 
this  prospective  parent  were  extremely  dim  and 
vague.  He  did  not  know  to  what  city  he  went,  nor 
had  he  any  recollection  whatever  of  the  people  he 
met  there.  But  he  did  remember,  with  remarkable 
clearness,  the  perplexing  talk  that  the  man  and  the 
superintendent  of  the  Square  House  had  together 
on  his  return. 

"  He  won't  do,"  the  stranger  had  said.  "  I  tried 
him  out  and  he  won't  fill  in  in  my  family.  And 
I  've  fetched  him  back." 

The  superintendent  must  have  looked  at  the  little 
curly-haired  boy  with  considerable  wonder;  but  he 
didn't  ask  questions.  There  was  no  particular 
need  of  them.  The  man  was  quite  ready  to  talk, 
and  the  fact  that  a  round-eyed  child  was  listening  to 
him  with  both  ears  open,  did  not  deter  him  a  particle. 

"  I  believe  in  being  frank,"  the  man  said,  "  and  I 
tell  you  there  's  something  vicious  in  that  boy's  na- 
ture. It  came  out  the  very  first  moment  he  was  in 


The   Call   of  the   Blood  17 

the  house,  when  the  Missus  was  introducing  him 
to  my  eight-year-old  son.  '  This  is  little  Turner,' 
she  said  —  and  this  boy  sprang  right  at  him.  I  'd 
never  let  little  Turner  learn  to  fight,  and  this  boy 
was  on  top  of  him  and  was  pounding  him  with  his 
fists  before  we  could  pull  him  off.  Just  like  a  wild- 
cat —  screaming  and  sobbing  and  trying  to  get  at 
him  again.  I  did  n't  understand  it  at  all." 

Nor  did  the  superintendent  understand;  nor  — 
in  these  later  years  —  Bruce  either. 

He  was  quite  a  big  boy,  nearly  ten,  when  he 
finally  left  the  Square  House.  And  there  was  noth- 
ing flickering  or  dim  about  the  memory  of  this  oc- 
casion. 

A  tall,  exceedingly  slender  man  sat  beside  the 
window,  —  a  man  well  dressed  but  with  hard  lines 
about  his  mouth  and  hard  eyes.  Yet  the  superin- 
tendent seemed  particularly  anxious  to  please  him. 
"  You  will  like  this  sturdy  fellow,"  he  said,  as  Bruce 
was  ushered  in. 

The  man's  eyes  traveled  slowly  from  the  child's 
curly  head  to  his  rapidly  growing  feet;  but  no 
gleam  of  interest  came  into  the  thin  face.  "  I  sup- 
pose he  '11  do  —  as  good  as  any.  It  was  the  wife's 
idea,  anyway,  you  know.  What  about  parentage? 
Anything  decent  at  all?  " 

The  superintendent  seemed  to  wait  a  long  time 
before  answering.  Little  Bruce,  already  full  of  se- 
cret conjectures  as  to  his  own  parentage,  thought 
that  some  key  might  be  given  him  at  last.  "  There 
is  nothing  that  we  can  tell  you,  Mr.  Duncan,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  A  woman  brought  him  here  —  with 


1 8        The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

an  infant  girl  —  when  he  was  about  four.     I  sup- 
pose she  was  his  mother  —  and  she  did  n't  wait  to 
talk  to  me.     The  nurse  said  that  she  wore  outland- 
ish clothes  and  had  plainly  had  a  hard  time." 
"  But  she  did  n't  wait  --  ?  " 
"  She  dropped  her  children  and  fled." 
A  cold  little  smile  flickered  at  the  man's  lips. 
"  It  looks  rather  damnable,"  he  said  significantly. 
"  But  I  '11  take  the  little  beggar  —  anyway." 

And  thus  Bruce  went  to  the  cold  fireside  of  the 
Duncans  —  a  house  in  a  great  and  distant  city 
where,  in  the  years  that  had  passed,  many 
things  scarcely  worth  remembering  had  transpired. 
It  was  a  gentleman's  house —  as  far  as  the  meaning 
of  the  word  usually  goes  —  and  Bruce  had  been  af- 
forded a  gentleman's  education.  There  was  also, 
for  a  while,  a  certain  amount  of  rather  doubtful 
prosperity,  a  woman  who  died  after  a  few  months 
of  casual  interest  in  him,  and  many,  many  hours  of 
almost  overwhelming  loneliness.  Also  there  were 
many  thoughts  such  as  are  not  especially  good  for 
the  spirits  of  growing  boys. 

There  is  a  certain  code  in  all  worlds  that  most 
men,  sooner  or  later,  find  it  wisest  to  adopt.  It  is 
simply  the  code  of  forgetfulness.  The  Square 
House  from  whence  Bruce  had  come  had  been  a 
good  place  to  learn  this  code ;  and  Bruce  —  child 
though  he  was  —  had  carried  it  with  him  to  the 
Duncans'.  But  there  were  two  things  he  had  been 
unable  to  forget.  One  was  the  words  his  foster 
father  had  spoken  on  accepting  him,  —  words  that 
at  last  he  had  come  to  understand. 


The   Call   of  the   Blood  19 

A  normal  child,  adopted  into  a  good  home,  would 
not  have  likely  given  a  second  thought  to  a  dim  and 
problematical  disgrace  in  his  unknown  and  departed 
family.  He  would  have  found  his  pride  in  the 
achievements  and  standing  of  his  foster  parents. 
But  the  trouble  was  that  little  Bruce  had  not  been 
adopted  into  any  sort  of  home,  good  or  bad.  The 
place  where  the  Duncans  lived  was  a  house,  but  un- 
der no  liberal  interpretation  of  the  word  could  it  be 
called  a  home.  There  was  nothing  homelike  in  it  to 
little  Bruce.  It  was  n't  that  there  was  actual 
cruelty  to  contend  with.  Bruce  had  never  known 
that.  But  there  was  utter  indifference  which  per- 
haps is  worse.  And  as  always,  the  child  filled  up 
the  empty  space  with  dreams.  He  gave  all  the 
love  and  worship  that  was  in  him  to  his  own  family 
that  he  had  pictured  in  imagination.  Thus  any 
disgrace  that  had  come  upon  them  went  home  to 
him  very  straight  indeed. 

The  other  lasting  memory  was  of  Linda.  She 
represented  the  one  living  creature  in  all  his  as- 
semblage of  phantoms  —  the  one  person  with  whom 
he  could  claim  real  kinship.  Never  a  wind  blew, 
never  the  sun  shone  but  that  he  missed  her,  with  a 
terrible,  aching  longing  for  which  no  one  has  ever 
been  able  to  find  words.  He  had  done  a  bold  thing, 
after  his  first  few  years  with  the  Duncans.  He 
planned  it  long  and  carried  it  out  with  infinite  care 
as  to  details.  He  wrote  to  Linda,  in  care  of  the 
superintendent  of  the  orphanage. 

The  answer  only  deepened  the  mystery.  Linda 
was  missing.  Whether  she  had  run  away,  or 


2O       The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

whether  some  one  had  come  by  in  a  closed  car  and 
carried  her  off  as  she  played  on  the  lawns,  the  super- 
intendent could  not  tell.  They  had  never  been  able 
to  trace  her.  He  had  been  fifteen  then,  a  tall  boy 
with  rather  unusual  muscular  development,  and  the 
girl  was  eleven.  And  in  the  year  nineteen  hun- 
dred and  twenty,  ten  years  after  the  reply  to  his 
letter,  Bruce  had  heard  no  word  from  her.  A  man 
grown,  and  his  boyish  dreams  pushed  back  into  the 
furthest  deep  recesses  of  his  mind,  where  they  could 
no  longer  turn  his  eyes  away  from  facts,  he  had 
given  up  all  hope  of  ever  hearing  from  her  again. 
"  My  little  sister,"  he  said  softly  to  a  memory. 
Then  bitterness  —  a  whole  black  flood  of  it- 
would  come  upon  him.  "  Good  Lord,  I  don't  even 
know  that  she  was  my  sister."  But  now  he  was 
going  to  find  her  and  his  heart  was  full  of  joy  and 
eager  anticipation. 


Ill 

THERE  had  not  been  time  to  make  inquiry  as  to 
the  land  Bruce  was  going  to.  He  only  knew  one 
thing,  —  that  it  was  the  wilderness.  Whether  it 
was  a  wilderness  of  desert  or  of  great  forest,  he  did 
not  know.  Nor  had  he  the  least  idea  what  manner 
of  adventure  would  be  his  after  he  reached  the  old 
woman's  cabin;  and  he  did  n't  care.  The  fact  that 
he  had  no  business  plans  for  the  future  and  no  finan- 
cial resources  except  a  few  hundred  dollars  that 
he  carried  in  his  pocket  did  not  matter  one  way  or 
another.  He  was  willing  to  spend  all  the  money  he 
had ;  after  it  was  gone,  he  would  take  up  some  work 
in  life  anew. 

He  had  a  moment's  wonder  at  the  effect  his 
departure  would  have  upon  the  financial  problem 
that  had  been  his  father's  sole  legacy  to  him.  He 
laughed  a  little  as  he  thought  of  it.  Perhaps  a 
stronger  man  could  have  taken  hold,  could  have 
erected  some  sort  of  a  structure  upon  the  ruins, 
and  remained  to  conquer  after  all.  But  Bruce  had 
never  been  particularly  adept  at  business.  His 
temperament  did  not  seem  suited  to  it.  But  the 
idea  that  others  also  —  having  no  business  relations 
with  his  father  —  might  be  interested  in  this  west- 
ern journey  of  his  did  not  even  occur  to  him.  He 
would  not  be  missed  at  his  athletic  club.  He  had 


22        The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

scarcely  any  real  friends,  and  none  of  his  acquaint- 
ances kept  particularly  close  track  of  him. 

But  the  paths  men  take,  seemingly  with  wholly 
different  aims,  crisscross  and  become  intertwined 
much  more  than  Bruce  knew.  Even  as  he  lay  in 
his  berth,  the  first  sweet  drifting  of  sleep  upon  him, 
he  was  the  subject  of  a  discussion  in  a  far-distant 
mountain  home;  and  sleep  would  not  have  fallen 
so  easily  and  sweetly  if  he  had  heard  it. 

It  might  have  been  a  different  world.  Only  a 
glimpse  of  it,  illumined  by  the  moon,  could  be  seen 
through  the  soiled  and  besmirched  window  pane; 
but  that  was  enough  to  tell  the  story.  There  were 
no  tall  buildings,  lighted  by  a  thousand  electric 
lights,  such  as  Bruce  could  see  through  the  windows 
of  his  bedroom  at  night.  The  lights  that  could  be 
discerned  in  this  strange,  dark  sky  were  largely 
unfamiliar  to  Bruce,  because  of  the  smoke-clouds 
that  had  always  hung  above  the  city  where  he  lived. 
There  were  just  stars,  but  there  were  so  many  of 
them  that  the  mind  was  unable  to  comprehend  their 
number. 

There  is  a  perplexing  variation  in  the  appearance 
of  these  twinkling  spheres.  No  man  who  has  trav- 
eled widely  can  escape  this  fact.  Likely  enough 
they  are  the  same  stars,  but  they  put  on  different 
faces.  They  seem  almost  insignificant  at  times,  — 
dull  and  dim  and  unreal.  It  is  not  this  way  with 
the  stars  that  peer  down  through  these  high  for- 
ests. Men  cannot  walk  beneath  them  and  be  un- 
aware of  them.  They  are  incredibly  large  and 


The   Call   of  the    Blood  23 

bright  and  near,  and  the  eyes  naturally  lift  to  them. 
There  are  nights  in  plenty,  in  the  wild  places,  where 
they  seem  much  more  real  than  the  dim,  moonlit 
ridge  or  even  the  spark  of  a  trapper's  campfire,  far 
away.  They  grow  to  be  companions,  too,  in  time. 
Perhaps  after  many,  many  years  in  the  wild  a  man 
even  attains  some  understanding  of  them,  learning 
their  infinite  beneficence,  and  finding  in  them  rare 
comrades  in  loneliness,  and  beacons  on  the  dim  and 
intertwining  trails. 

There  was  also  a  moon  that  cast  a  little  square 
of  light,  like  a  fairy  tapestry,  on  the  floor.  It  was 
not  such  a  moon  as  leers  down  red  and  strange 
through  the  smoke  of  cities.  It  was  vivid  and  quite 
white,  —  the  wilderness  moon  that  times  the  hunt- 
ing hours  of  the  forest  creatures.  But  the  patch 
that  it  cast  on  the  floor  was  obscured  in  a  moment 
because  the  man  who  had  been  musing  in  the  big 
chair  beside  the  empty  fireplace  had  risen  and 
lighted  a  kerosene  lamp. 

The  light  prevented  any  further  scrutiny  of  the 
moon  and  stars.  And  what  remained  to  look  at  was 
not  nearly  so  pleasing  to  the  spirit.  It  was  a  great, 
white-walled  room  that  would  have  been  beautiful 
had  it  not  been  for  certain  unfortunate  attempts  to 
beautify  it.  The  walls,  that  should  have  been 
sweeping  and  clean,  were  adorned  with  gaudily 
framed  pictures  which  in  themselves  were  dim  and 
drab  from  many  summers'  accumulation  of  dust. 
There  was  a  stone  fireplace,  and  certain  massive, 
dust-covered  chairs  grouped  about  it.  But  the 
eyes  never  would  have  got  to  these.  They  would 


24        The  Strength   of  the    Pines 

have  been  held  and  fascinated  by  the  face  and 
the  form  of  the  man  who  had  just  lighted  the 
lamp. 

No  one  could  look  twice  at  that  massive  physique 
and  question  its  might.  He  seemed  almost  gigantic 
in  the  yellow  lamplight.  In  reality  he  stood  six 
feet  and  almost  three  inches,  and  his  frame  was 
perfectly  in  proportion.  He  moved  slowly,  lazily, 
and  the  thought  flashed  to  some  great  monster  of 
the  forest  that  could  uproot  a  tree  with  a  blow. 
The  huge  muscles  rippled  and  moved  under  the 
flannel  shirt.  The  vast  hand  looked  as  if  it  could 
seize  the  glass  bowl  of  the  lamp  and  crush  it  like 
an  eggshell. 

The  face  was  huge,  big  and  gaunt  of  bone;  and 
particularly  one  would  notice  the  mouth.  It  would 
be  noticed  even  before  the  dark,  deep-sunken  eyes. 
It  was  a  bloodhound  mouth,  the  mouth  of  a  man 
of  great  and  terrible  passions,  and  there  was  an  un- 
mistakable measure  of  cruelty  and  savagery  about 
it.  But  there  was  strength,  too.  No  eye  could 
doubt  that.  The  jaw  muscles  looked  as  powerful 
as  those  of  a  beast  of  prey.  But  it  was  not  an  ugly 
face,  for  all  the  brutality  of  the  features.  It  was 
even  handsome  in  the  hard,  mountain  way.  One 
would  notice  straight,  black  hair  —  the  man's  age 
was  about  thirty-nine  —  long  over  rather  dark  ears, 
and  a  great,  gnarled  throat.  The  words  when  he 
spoke  seemed  to  come  from  deep  within  it. 

"  Come  in,  Dave,"  he  said. 

In  this  little  remark  lay  something  of  the  man's 
power.  The  visitor  had  come  unannounced.  His 


The   Call   of  the   Blood  25 

visit  had  Leen  unexpected.  His  host  had  not  yet 
seen  his  face.  Yet  the  man  knew,  before  the  door 
was  opened,  who  it  was  that  had  come. 

The  reason  went  back  to  a  certain  quickening  of 
the  senses  that  is  the  peculiar  right  and  property  of 
most  men  who  are  really  residents  of  the  wilderness. 
And  resident,  in  this  case,  does  not  mean  merely 
one  who  builds  his  cabin  on  the  slopes  and  lives 
there  until  he  dies.  It  means  a  true  relationship 
with  the  wild,  an  actual  understanding.  This  man 
was  the  son  of  the  wild  as  much  as  the  wolves  that 
ran  in  the  packs.  The  wilderness  is  a  fecund  par- 
ent, producing  an  astounding  variety  of  types. 
Some  are  beautiful,  many  stronger  than  iron,  but 
her  parentage  was  never  more  evident  than  in  the 
case  of  this  bronze-skinned  giant  that  called  out 
through  the  open  doorway.  Among  certain  other 
things  he  had  acquired  an  ability  to  name  and  in- 
terpret quickly  the  little  sounds  of  the  wilderness 
night.  Soft  though  it  was,  he  had  heard  the  sound 
of  approaching  feet  in  the  pine  needles.  As  surely 
as  he  would  have  recognized  the  dark  face  of  the 
man  in  the  doorway,  he  recognized  the  sound  as 
Dave's  step. 

The  man  came  in,  and  at  once  an  observer  would 
have  detected  an  air  of  deference  in  his  attitude. 
Very  plainly  he  had  come  to  see  his  chief.  He  was 
a  year  or  two  older  than  his  host,  less  powerful  of 
physique,  and  his  eyes  did  not  hold  quite  so  straight. 
There  was  less  savagery  but  more  cunning  in  his 
sharp  features. 

He  blurted  out  his  news  at  once.    "  Old  Elmira 


26        The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

has  got  word  down  to  the  settlements  at  last,"  he 
said. 

There  was  no  muscular  response  in  the  larger 
man.  Dave  was  plainly  disappointed.  He  wanted 
his  news  to  cause  a  stir.  It  was  true,  however,  that 
his  host  slowly  raised  his  eyes.  Dave  glanced 
away. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  the  man  demanded. 

"  Mean  —  I  mean  just  what  I  said.  We  should 
have  watched  closer.  Bill  —  Young  Bill,  I  mean 

-  saw  a  city  chap  just  in  the  act  of  going  in  to  see 
her.     He  had  come  on  to  the  plateaus  with  his  guide 

—  Wegan  was  the  man's  name  —  and  Bill  said 
he  stayed  a  lot  longer  than  he  would  have  if  he 
had  n't  taken  a  message  from  her.     Then  Young 
Bill  made  some  inquiries  —  innocent  as  you  please 

—  and  he  found  out  for  sure  that  this  Wegan  was 
from  —  just  the  place  we  don't  want  him  to  be 
from.     And  he  '11  carry  word  sure." 

"  How  long  ago  was  this?  " 

"  Week  ago  Tuesday." 

"  And  why  have  you  been  so  long  in  telling  me?  " 

When  Dave's  chief  asked  questions  in  this  tone, 
answers  always  came  quickly.  They  rolled  so  fast 
from  the  mouth  that  they  blurred  and  ran  together. 

*  Why,  Simon  —  you  ain't  been  where  I  could  see 
you.     Anyway,  there  was  nothin'  we  could  have 
done." 

'  There  wasn't,  eh?  I  don't  suppose  you  ever 
thought  that  there  's  yet  two  months  before  we  can 
clinch  this  thing  for  good,  and  young  Folger  might 

—  I  say  might  —  have  kicking  about  somewhere  in 


The   Call   of  the   Blood  27 

his  belongings  the  very  document  we  Ve  all  of  us 
been  worrying  about  for  twenty  years."  Simon 
cursed  —  a  single,  fiery  oath.  "  I  don't  suppose 
you  could  have  arranged  for  this  Wegan  to  have 
had  a  hunting  accident,  could  you?  Who  in  the 
devil  would  have  thought  that  yelping  old  hen  could 
have  ever  done  it  —  would  have  ever  kept  at  it 
long  enough  to  reach  anybody  to  carry  her  message ! 
But  as  usual,  we  are  yelling  before  we  're  hurt. 
It  is  n't  worth  a  cussword.  Like  as  not,  this  Wegan 
will  never  take  the  trouble  to  hunt  him  up.  And  if 
he  does  —  well,  it 's  nothing  to  worry  about,  either. 
There  is  one  back  door  that  has  been  opened  many 
times  to  let  his  people  go  through,  and  it  may  easily 
be  opened  again." 

Dave's  eyes  filled  with  admiration,.  Then  he 
turned  and  gazed  out  through  the  window.  Against 
the  eastern  sky,  already  wan  and  pale  from  the 
encroaching  dawn,  the  long  ridge  of  a  mountain 
stood  in  vivid  and  startling  silhouette.  The  edge 
of  it  was  curiously  jagged  with  many  little  up- 
right points. 

There  was  only  one  person  who  would  have  been 
greatly  amazed  by  that  outline  of  the  ridge ;  and 
the  years  and  distance  had  obscured  her  long  ago. 
This  was  a  teacher  at  an  orphanage  in  a  distant  cityr 
who  once  had  taken  a  crude  drawing  from  the 
hands  of  a  child.  Here  was  the  original  at  last. 
It  was  the  same  ridge,  covered  with  pines,  that  little 
Bruce  had  drawn. 


IV 

THE  train  came  to  a  sliding  halt  at  Deer  Creek, 
paused  an  infinitesimal  fraction  of  a  second,  and 
roared  on  in  its  ceaseless  journey.  That  infinitesi- 
mal fraction  was  long  enough  for  Bruce,  poised  on 
the  bottom  step  of  a  sleeping  car,  to  swing  down  on 
to  the  gravel  right-of-way.  His  bag,  hurled  by  a 
sleepy  porter,  followed  him. 

He  turned  first  to  watch  the  vanishing  tail  light, 
speeding  so  swiftly  into  the  darkness ;  and  curiously 
all  at  once  it  blinked  out.  But  it  was  not  that  the 
switchmen  were  neglectful  of  their  duties.  In 
this  certain  portion  of  the  Cascades  the  railroad 
track  is  constructed  something  after  the  manner  of 
a  giant  screw,  coiling  like  a  great  serpent  up  the 
ridges,  and  the  train  had  simply  vanished  around 
a  curve. 

Duncan's  next  impression  was  one  of  infinite  sol- 
itude. He  hadn't  read  any  guidebooks  about 
Deer  Creek,  and  he  had  expected  some  sort  of 
town.  A  western  mining  camp,  perhaps,  where  the 
windows  of  a  dance  hall  would  gleam  through  the 
darkness ;  or  one  of  those  curious  little  mushroom- 
growth  cities  that  are  to  be  found  all  over  the  West. 
But  at  Deer  Creek  there  was  one  little  wooden 
structure  with  only  three  sides,  —  the  opening  fac- 
ing the  track.  It  was  evidently  the  waiting  room 


The    Call   of  the   Blood          29 

used  by  the  mountain  men  as  they  waited  for  their 
local  trains. 

There  were  no  porters  to  carry  his  bag.  There 
were  no  shouting  officials.  His  only  companions 
were  the  stars  and  the  moon  and,  farther  up  the 
slope,  certain  tall  trees  that  tapered  to  incredible 
points  almost  in  the  region  where  the  stars  began. 
The  noise  of  the  train  died  quickly.  It  vanished 
almost  as  soon  as  the  dot  of  red  that  had  been  its 
tail  light.  It  was  true  that  he  heard  a  faint  puls- 
ing far  below  him,  a  sound  that  was  probably  the 
chug  of  the  steam,  but  it  only  made  an  effective 
background  for  the  silence.  It  was  scarcely  more 
to  be  heard  than  the  pulse  of  his  own  blood;  and 
as  he  waited  even  this  faded  and  died  away. 

The  moon  cast  his  shadow  on  the  yellow  grass 
beside  the  crude  station,  and  a  curious  flood  of  sen- 
sations—  scarcely  more  tangible  than  its  silver 
light  —  came  over  him.  The  moment  had  a  qual- 
ity of  enchantment;  and  why  he  did  not  know. 
His  throat  suddenly  filled,  a  curious  weight  and 
pain  came  to  his  eyelids,  a  quiver  stole  over  his 
nerves.  He  stood  silent  with  lifted  face,  —  a 
strange  figure  in  that  mystery  of  moonlight. 

The  whole  scene,  for  causes  deeper  than  any 
words  may  ever  seek  and  reveal,  moved  him  past  any 
experience  in  his  life.  It  was  wholly  new.  When 
he  had  gone  to  sleep  in  his  berth,  earlier  that  same 
night,  the  train  had  been  passing  through  a  level, 
fertile  valley  that  might  have  been  one  of  the  river 
bottoms  beyond  the  Mississippi.  When  darkness 
had  come  down  he  had  been  in  a  great  city  in  the 


30      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

northern  part  of  the  State,  —  a  noisy,  busy  place 
that  was  not  greatly  different  from  the  city  whence 
he  had  come.  But  now  he  seemed  in  a  different 
world. 

Possibly,  in  the  long  journey  to  the  West,  he 
had  passed  through  forest  before.  But  some  way 
their  appeal  had  not  got  to  him.  He  was  behind 
closed  windows,  his  thoughts  had  been  busy  with 
reading  and  other  occupations  of  travel.  There 
had  been  no  shading  off,  no  gradations;  he  had 
come  straight  from  a  great  seat  of  civilization  to  the 
heart  of  the  wilderness. 

He  turned  about  until  the  wind  was  in  his  face. 
It  was  full  of  fragrances,  —  strange,  indescribable 
smells  that  seemed  to  call  up  a  forgotten  world. 
They  carried  a  message  to  him,  but  as  yet  he  had  n't 
made  out  its  meaning.  He  only  knew  it  was  some- 
thing mysterious  and  profound:  great  truths  that 
flickered,  like  dim  lights,  in  his  consciousness,  but 
whose  outline  he  could  not  quite  discern.  They 
went  straight  home  to  him,  those  night  smells  from 
the  forest.  One  of  them  was  a  balsam :  a  fragrance 
that  once  experienced  lingers  ever  in  the  memory 
and  calls  men  back  to  it  in  the  end.  Those  who  die 
in  its  fragrance,  just  as  those  who  go  to  sleep,  feel 
sure  of  having  pleasant  dreams.  There  were  other 
smells  too  —  delicate  perfumes  from  mountain 
flowers  that  were  deep-hidden  in  the  grass  —  and 
many  others,  the  nature  of  which  he  could  not  even 
guess. 

Perhaps  there  were  sounds,  but  they  only  seemed 
part  of  the  silence.  The  faintest  rustle  in  the  world 


The   Call   of  the   Blood         3 1 

reached  him  from  the  forests  above  of  many  little 
winds  playing  a  running  game  between  the  trunks, 
and  the  stir  of  the  Little  People,  moving  in  their 
midnight  occupations.  Each  of  these  sounds  had 
its  message  for  Bruce.  They  all  seemed  to  be  try- 
ing to  tell  him  something,  to  make  clear  some  great 
truth  that  was  dawning  in  his  consciousness. 

He  was  not  in  the  least  afraid.  He  felt  at  peace 
as  never  before.  He  picked  up  his  bag,  and  with 
stealing  steps  approached  the  long  slope  behind. 
The  moon  showed  him  a  fallen  log,  and  he  found  a 
comfortable  seat  on  the  ground  beside  it,  his  back 
against  its  bark.  Then  he  waited  for  the  dawn  to 
come  out. 

Not  even  Bruce  knew  or  understood  all  the 
thoughts  that  came  over  him  in  that  lonely  wait. 
But  he  did  have  a  peculiar  sense  of  expectation,  a 
realization  that  the  coming  of  the  dawn  would  bring 
him  a  message  clearer  than  all  these  messages  of 
fragrance  and  sound.  The  moon  made  wide  silver 
patches  between  the  distant  trees;  but  as  yet  the 
forest  had  not  opened  its  secrets  to  him.  As  yet  it 
was  but  a  mystery,  a  profundity  of  shadows  and 
enchantment  that  he  did  not  understand. 

The  night  hours  passed.  The  sense  of  peace 
seemed  to  deepen  on  the  man.  He  sat  relaxed,  his 
brown  face  grave,  his  eyes  lifted.  The  stars  began 
to  dim  and  draw  back  farther  into  the  recesses  of  the 
sky.  The  round  outline  of  the  moon  seemed  less 
pronounced.  And  a  faint  ribbon  of  light  began 
to  grow  in  the  east. 

It  widened.     The  light  grew.     The  night  wind 


32      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

played  one  more  little  game  between  the  tree  trunks 
and  slipped  away  to  the  Home  of  Winds  that  lies 
somewhere  above  the  mountains.  The  little  night 
sounds  were  slowly  stilled. 

Bruce  closed  his  eyes,  not  knowing  why.  His 
blood  was  leaping  in  his  veins.  An  unfamiliar  ex- 
citement, almost  an  exultation,  had  come  upon  him. 
He  lowered  his  head  nearly  to  his  hands  that  rested 
in  his  lap,  then  waited  a  full  five  minutes  more. 

Then  he  opened  his  eyes.  The  light  had  grown 
around  him.  His  hands  were  quite  plain.  Slowly, 
as  a  man  raises  his  eyes  to  a  miracle,  he  lifted  his 
face. 

The  forest  was  no  longer  obscured  in  darkness. 
The  great  trees  had  emerged,  and  only  the  dusk  as 
of  twilight  was  left  between.  He  saw  them  plainly, 
-their  symmetrical  forms,  their  declining  limbs, 
their  tall  tops  piercing  the  sky.  He  saw  them  as 
they  were,  —  those  ancient,  eternal  symbols  and 
watchmen  of  the  wilderness.  And  he  knew  them  at 
last,  acquaintances  long  forgotten  but  remembered 
now. 

"  The  pines! "  he  cried.  He  leaped  to  his  feet 
with  flashing  eyes.  "  I  have  come  back  to  the 
pines! " 


THE  dawn  revealed  a  narrow  road  along  the 
bank  of  Deer  Creek,  —  a  brown  little  wanderer 
which,  winding  here  and  there,  did  not  seem  to 
know  exactly  where  it  wished  to  go.  It  seemed  to 
follow  the  general  direction  of  the  creek  bed;  it 
seemed  to  be  a  prying,  restless  little  highway,  curi- 
ous about  things  in  general  as  the  wild  creatures 
that  sometimes  made  tracks  in  its  dust,  thrusting 
now  into  a  heavy  thicket,  now  crossing  the  creek  to 
examine  a  green  and  grassy  bank  on  the  opposite 
side,  now  taking  an  adventurous  tramp  about  the 
shoulder  of  a  hill,  circling  back  for  a  drink  in  the 
creek  and  hurrying  on  again.  It  made  singular 
loops;  it  darted  off  at  a  right  and  left  oblique;  it 
made  sudden  spurts  and  turns  seemingly  without 
reason  or  sense,  and  at  last  it  dimmed  away  into  the 
fading  mists  of  early  morning.  Bruce  did  n't  know 
which  direction  to  take,  whether  up  or  down  the 
creek. 

He  gave  the  problem  a  moment's  thought. 
'  Take  the  road  up  the  Divide,"  Barney  Wegan 
had  said;  and  at  once  Bruce  knew  that  the  course 
lay  up  the  creek,  rather  than  down.  A  divide 
means  simply  the  High  places  between  one  water- 
shed and  another,  and  of  course  Trail's  End  lay 
somewhere  beyond  the  source  of  the  stream.  The 
creek  itself  was  apparently  a  sub-tributary  of  the 
Rogue,  the  great  river  to  the  south. 


34      The  Strength   of  the   Pines 

There  was  something  pleasing  to  his  spirit  in  the 
sight  of  the  little  stream,  tumbling  and  rippling 
down  its  rocky  bed.  He  had  no  vivid  memories  of 
seeing  many  waterways.  The  river  that  flowed 
through  the  city  whence  he  had  come  had  not  been 
like  this  at  all.  It  had  been  a  great,  slow-moving 
sheet  of  water,  the  banks  of  which  were  lined  with 
factories  and  warehouses.  The  only  lining  of  the 
banks  of  this  little  stream  were  white-barked  trees, 
lovely  groves  with  leaves  of  glossy  green.  It  was 
a  cheery,  eager  little  waterway,  and  more  than  once 
—  as  he  went  around  a  curve  in  the  road  —  it  af- 
forded him  glimpses  of  really  striking  beauty. 
Sometimes  it  was  just  a  shimmer  of  its  waters  be- 
neath low-hanging  bushes,  sometimes  a  distant 
cataract,  and  once  or  twice  a  long,  still  place  on 
which  the  shadows  were  still  deep. 

These  sloughs  were  obviously  the  result  of  dams, 
and  at  first  he  could  not  understand  what  had  been 
the  purpose  of  dam-building  in  this  lonely  region. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  factories  needing  water 
power,  no  slow-moving  mill  wheels.  He  left  the 
road  to  investigate.  And  he  chuckled  with  delight 
when  he  knew  the  truth. 

These  dams  had  not  been  the  work  of  men  at  all. 
Rather  they  were  structures  laid  down  by  those 
curious  little  civil  engineers,  the  beavers.  The 
cottonwood  trees  had  been  felled  so  that  the  thick 
branches  had  lain  across  the  waters,  and  in  their 
own  secret  ways  the  limbs  had  been  matted  and 
caked  until  no  water  could  pass  through.  True, 
the  beavers  themselves  did  not  emerge  for  him  to 


The   Call  of  the   Blood  35 

converse  with.  Perhaps  they  were  busy  at  their 
under-water  occupations,  and  possibly  the  trappers 
who  sooner  or  later  penetrate  every  wilderness  had 
taken  them  all  away.  He  looked  along  the  bank  for 
further  evidence  of  the  beavers'  work. 

Wonderful  as  the  dams  were,  he  found  plenty  of 
evidence  that  the  beavers  had  not  always  used  to 
advantage  the  crafty  little  brains  that  nature  has 
given  them.  They  had  made  plenty  of  mistakes. 
But  these  very  blunders  gave  Bruce  enough  delight 
almost  to  pay  for  the  extra  work  they  had  occa- 
sioned. After  all,  he  considered,  human  beings  in 
their  works  are  often  just  as  short-sighted.  For 
instance,  he  found  tall  trees  lying  rotting  and  out 
of  reach,  many  feet  back  from,  the  stream.  The 
beavers  had  evidently  felled  them  in  high  water, 
forgetting  that  the  stream  dwindled  in  summer  and 
the  trees  would  be  of  no  use  to  them.  They  had 
been  an  industrious  colony!  He  found  short  poles 
of  cottonwood  sharpened  at  the  end,  as  if  the  little 
fur  bearers  had  intended  them  for  braces,  but  which 
—  through  some  wilderness  tragedy  —  had  never 
been  utilized. 

But  Bruce  was  in  a  mood  to  be  delighted,  these 
early  morning  hours.  He  was  on  the  way  to 
Linda;  a  dream  was  about  to  come  true.  The 
whole  adventure  was  of  the  most  thrilling  and  joy- 
ous anticipations.  He  did  not  feel  the  load  of  his 
heavy  suitcase.  It  was  nothing  to  his  magnificent 
young  strength.  And  all  at  once  he  beheld  an 
amazing  change  in  the  appearance  of  the  stream. 

It  had  abruptly  changed  to  a  stream  of  melted, 


36      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

shimmering  silver.  The  waters  broke  on  the  rocks 
with  opalescent  spray ;  the  whole  coloring  was  sug- 
gestive of  the  vivid  tints  of  a  Turner  landscape. 
The  waters  gleamed ;  they  danced  and  sparkled  as 
they  sped  about  the  boulders  of  the  river  bed;  the 
leaves  shimmered  above  them.  And  it  was  all  be- 
cause the  sun  had  risen  at  last  above  the  mountain 
range  and  was  shining  down. 

At  first  Bruce  could  hardly  believe  that  just  sun- 
light could  effect  such  a  transformation.  For  no 
other  reason  than  that  he  could  n't  resist  doing  so, 
he  left  his  bag  on  the  road  and  crept  down  to  the 
water's  edge. 

He  stood  very  still.  It  seemed  to  him  that  some 
one  had  told  him,  far  away  and  long  ago,  that  if  he 
wished  to  see  miracles  he  had  only  to  stand  very  still. 
Not  to  move  a  muscle,  so  that  his  vivid  shadow 
would  not  even  waver,  It  is  a  trait  possessed  by  all 
men  of  the  wilderness,  but  it  takes  time  for  city  men 
to  learn  it.  He  waited  a  long  time.  And  all  at 
once  the  shining  surface  of  a  deep  pool  below  him 
broke  with  a  fountain  of  glittering  spray. 

Something  that  was  like  light  itself  flung  into  the 
air  and  down  again  with  a  splash.  Bruce  shouted 
then.  He  simply  couldn't  help  it.  And  all  the 
tin.  5  there  was  a  strange  straining  and  travail  in  his 
brain,  as  if  it  were  trying  to  give  birth  to  a  memory 
from  long  ago.  He  knew  now  what  had  made  that 
glittering  arc.  Such  a  common  thing,  —  it  was 
singular  that  it  should  yield  him  such  delight.  It 
was  a  trout,  leaping  for  an  insect  that  had  fallen 
on  the  waters. 


The   Call   of  the   Blood          37 

It  was  strange  that  he  had  such  a  sense  of  famil- 
iarity with  trout.  True,  he  had  heard  Barney  We- 
gan  tell  of  them.  He  had  listened  to  many  tales 
of  the  way  they  seized  a  fly,  how  the  reel  would  spin, 
and  how  they  would  fight  to  absolute  exhaustion 
before  they  would  yield  to  the  landing  net.  '  The 
King  among  fish,"  Barney  had  called  them.  Yet 
the  tales  seemingly  had  meant  little  to  him  then. 
His  interest  in  them  had  been  superficial  only ;  and 
they  had  seemed  as  distant  and  remote  as  the  mar- 
supials of  Australia.  But  it  was  n't  this  way  now. 
He  had  a  sense  of  long  and  close  acquaintance,  of 
an  interest  such  as  men  have  in  their  own  townsmen. 

He  went  on,  and  the  forest  world  opened  before 
him.  Once  a  flock  of  grouse  —  a  hen  and  a  dozen 
half -grown  chickens  —  scurried  away  through  the 
underbrush  at  the  sound  of  his  step.  One  instant, 
and  he  had  a  clear  view  of  the  entire  covey.  The 
next,  and  they  had  vanished  like  so  many  puffs  of 
smoke.  He  had  a  delicious  game  of  hide-and-seek 
with  them  through  the  coverts,  but  he  was  out- 
classed in  every  particular.  He  knew  that  the 
birds  were  all  within  forty  feet  of  him,  each  of  them 
pressed  flat  to  the  brown  earth,  but  in  this  maze  of 
light  and  shadow  he  could  not  detect  their  outline. 
Nature  has  been  kind  to  the  grouse  family  in  the 
way  of  protective  coloration.  He  had  to  give  up 
the  search  and  continue  up  the  creek  for  further 
adventure. 

Once  a  pair  of  mallards  winged  by  on  a  straight 
course  above  his  head.  Their  sudden  appearance 
rather  surprised  him.  These  beautiful  game  birds 


38      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

are  usually  habitants  of  the  lower  lakes  and  marshes, 
not  rippling  mountain  streams.  He  did  n't  know 
that  a  certain  number  of  these  winged  people  nested 
every  year  along  the  Rogue  River,  far  below,  and 
made  rapturous  excursions  up  and  down  its  tribu- 
taries. Mallards  do  not  have  to  have  aeroplanes 
to  cover  distance  quickly.  They  are  the  very  mas- 
ters of  the  aerial  lanes,  and  in  all  probability  this 
pair  had  come  forty  miles  already  that  morning. 
Where  they  would  be  at  dark  no  man  could  guess. 
Their  wings  whistled  down  to  him,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  drake  stretched  down  his  bright  green 
head  for  a  better  look.  Then  he  spurted  ahead, 
faster  than  ever. 

Once,  at  a  distance,  Bruce  caught  a  glimpse  of  a 
pair  of  peculiar,  little,  sawed-off,  plump-breasted 
ducks  that  wagged  their  tails,  as  if  in  signals,  in  a 
still  place  above  a  dam.  He  made  a  wide  circle, 
intending  to  wheel  back  to  the  creekside  for  a  closer 
inspection  of  the  singular  flirtation  of  those  bob- 
bing, fanlike  tails.  He  rather  thought  he  could 
outwit  these  little  people,  at  least.  But  when  he 
turned  back  to  the  water's  edge  they  were  nowhere 
to  be  seen. 

If  he  had  had  more  experience  with  the  creatures 
of  the  wild  he  could  have  explained  this  mysterious 
disappearance.  These  little  ducks  —  "  ruddies  " 
the  sportsmen  call  them  —  have  advantages  other 
than  an  extra  joint  in  their  tails.  One  of  them 
seems  to  be  a  total  and  unprincipled  indifference  to 
the  available  supply  of  oxygen.  When  they  wish 
to  go  out  of  sight  they  simply  duck  beneath  the 


The   Call   of  the   Blood          39 

water  and  stay  apparently  as  long  as  they  desire. 
Of  course  they  have  to  come  up  some  time  —  but 
usually  it  is  just  the  tip  of  a  bill  —  like  the  top  of  a 
river-bottom  weed,  thrust  above  the  surface. 
Bruce  gaped  in  amazement,  but  he  chuckled  again 
when  he  discovered  his  birds  farther  up  the  creek, 
just  as  far  distant  from  him  as  ever. 

The  sun  rose  higher,  and  he  began  to  feel  its 
power.  But  it  was  a  kindly  heat.  The  tempera- 
ture was  much  higher  than  was  commonly  met  in 
the  summers  of  the  city,  but  there  was  little  mois- 
ture in  the  air  to  make  it  oppressive.  The  sweat 
came  out  on  his  bronze  face,  but  he  never  felt  better 
in  his  life.  There  was  but  one  great  need,  and  that 
was  breakfast. 

A  man  of  his  physique  feels  hunger  quickly.  The 
sensation  increased  in  intensity,  and  the  suitcase 
grew  correspondingly  heavy.  And  all  at  once  he 
stopped  short  in  the  road.  The  impulse  along  his 
nerves  to  his  leg  muscles  was  checked,  like  an  elec- 
tric current  at  the  closing  of  a  switch,  and  an  in- 
stinct of  unknown  origin  struggled  for  expression 
within  him. 

In  an  instant  he  had  it.  He  did  n't  know  whence 
it  came.  It  was  nothing  he  had  read  or  that  any 
one  had  told  him.  It  seemed  to  be  rather  the  re- 
sult of  some  experience  in  his  own  immediate  life, 
an  occurrence  of  so  long  ago  that  he  had  forgotten  it. 
He  suddenly  knew  where  he  could  find  his  break- 
fast. There  was  no  need  of  toiling  farther  on  an 
empty  stomach  in  this  verdant  season  of  the  year. 
He  set  his  suitcase  down,  and  with  the  confidence 


40      The   Strength   of  the    Pines 

of  a  man  who  hears  the  dinner  call  in  his  own  home, 
he  struck  off  into  the  thickets  beside  the  creek  bed. 
Instinct  —  and  really,  after  all,  instinct  is  nothing 
but  memory  —  led  his  steps  true. 

He  glanced  here  and  there,  not  even  wondering 
at  the  singular  fact  that  he  did  not  know  exactly 
what  manner  of  food  he  was  seeking.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  came  to  a  growth  of  thorn-covered  bushes, 
a  thicket  that  only  the  she-bear  knew  how  to  pene- 
trate. But  it  was  enough  for  Bruce  just  to  stand 
at  its  edges.  The  bushes  were  bent  down  with  a 
load  of  delicious  berries. 

He  wasn't  in  the  least  surprised.  He  had 
known  that  he  would  find  them.  Always,  at  this 
season  of  the  year,  the  woods  were  rich  with  them; 
one  only  had  to  slip  quickly  through  the  back 
door  —  while  the  mother's  eye  was  elsewhere  —  to 
find  enough  of  them  not  only  to  pack  the  stomach 
full  but  to  stain  and  discolor  most  of  the  face.  It 
seemed  a  familiar  thing  to  be  plucking  the  juicy 
berries  and  cramming  them  into  his  mouth,  imper- 
vious as  the  old  she-bear  to  the  remonstrance  of 
the  thorns.  But  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  reached 
them  easier  than  he  expected.  Either  the  bushes 
were  not  so  tall  as  he  remembered  them,  or  —  since 
his  first  knowledge  of  them  —  his  own  stature  had 
increased. 

When  he  had  eaten  the  last  berry  he  could  pos- 
sibly hold,  he  went  to  the  creek  to  drink.  He  lay 
down  beside  a  still  pool,  and  the  water  was  cold  to 
his  lips.  Then  he  rose  at  the  sound  of  an  approach- 
ing motor  car  behind  him. 


The   Call   of  the   Blood          41 

The  driver  —  evidently  a  cattleman  —  stopped 
his  car  and  looked  at  Bruce  with  some  curiosity.  He 
marked  the  perfectly  fitting  suit  of  dark  flannel,  the 
trim,  expensive  shoes  that  were  already  dust- 
stained,  the  silken  shirt  on  which  a  juicy  berry  had 
been  crushed.  "  Howdy,"  the  man  said  after  the 
western  fashion.  He  was  evidently  simply  feel- 
ing companionable  and  was  looking  for  a  moment's 
chat.  It  is  a  desire  that  often  becomes  very  urgent 
and  most  real  after  enough  lonely  days  in  the  wil- 
derness. 

"  How  do  you  do,"  Bruce  replied.  "  How  far 
to  Martin's  store?  " 

The  man  filled  his  pipe  with  great  care  before  he 
answered.  "  Jump  in  the  car,"  he  replied  at  last, 
"  and  I  '11  show  you.  I  'm  going  up  that  way  my- 
self." 


VI 

MARTIN'S  was  a  typical  little  mountain  store, 
containing  a  small  sample  of  almost  everything 
under  the  sun  and  built  at  the  forks  in  the  road. 
The  ranchman  let  Bruce  off  at  the  store;  then 
turned  up  the  right-hand  road  that  led  to  certain 
bunch-grass  lands  to  the  east.  Bruce  entered 
slowly,  and  the  little  group  of  loungers  gazed  at 
him  with  frank  curiosity. 

Only  one  of  them  was  of  a  type  sufficiently  dis- 
tinguished so  that  Brace's  own  curiosity  was 
aroused.  This  was  a  huge,  dark  man  who  stood 
alone  almost  at  the  rear  of  the  building,  —  a  veri- 
table giant  with  savage,  bloodhound  lips  and  deep- 
sunken  eyes.  There  was  a  quality  in  his  posture 
that  attracted  Bruce's  attention  at  once.  No  one 
could  look  at  him  and  doubt  that  he  was  a  power  in 
these  mountain  realms.  He  seemed  perfectly  se- 
cure in  his  great  strength  and  wholly  cognizant  of 
the  hate  and  fear,  and  at  the  same  time,  the  strange 
sort  of  admiration  with  which  the  others  regarded 
him. 

He  was  dressed  much  as  the  other  mountain  men 
who  had  assembled  in  the  store.  He  wore  a  flan- 
nel shirt  over  his  gorilla  chest,  and  corduroy  trou- 
sers stuffed  into  high,  many-seamed  riding  boots. 
A  dark  felt  hat  was  crushed  on  to  his  huge  head. 


The   Call   of  the   Blood          43 

But  there  was  an  aloofness  about  the  man;  and 
Bruce  realized  at  once  he  had  taken  no  part  in  the 
friendly  gossip  that  had  been  interrupted  by  his  en- 
trance. 

The  dark  eyes  were  full  upon  Bruce's  face.  He 
felt  them  —  just  as  if  they  had  the  power  of  actual 
physical  impact  —  the  instant  that  he  was  inside  the 
door.  Nor  was  it  the  ordinary  look  of  careless 
speculation  or  friendly  interest.  Mountain  men 
have  not  been  taught  it  is  not  good  manners  to  stare, 
but  no  traveler  who  falls  swiftly  into  the  spirit  of 
the  forest  ordinarily  resents  their  open  inspection. 
But  this  look  was  different.  It  was  such  that  no 
man,  to  whom  self-respect  is  dear,  could  possibly 
lisregard.  It  spoke  clearly  as  words. 

Bruce  flushed^and  his  blood  made 

"He  slowly  turned. '  His^gazemoved  unti 
,;it  rested  full  upon  the  man's  eyes.  It  seemed  to 
Bruce  that  the  room  grew  instantly  quiet.  The 
merchant  no  longejJtiedr-Tip-4iis  bundles  at  the 
counter.  The  watching  mountamih^uthat  he  be- 
held out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  all  seem 
standing  in  peculiar  fixed  attitudes,  waiting  for 
some  sort  of  explosion.  It  took  all  of  Bruce's 
strength  to  hold  that  gaze.  The  moment  was 
charged  with  a  mysterious  suspense. 

The  stranger's  face  changed  too.  He  did  not 
flush,  however.  His  lips  curled  ever  so  slightly,  re- 
vealing an  instant's  glimpse  of  strong,  rather  well- 
kept  teeth.  His  eyes  were  narrowing  too ;  and  they 
seemed  to  come  to  life  with  singular  sparkles  and 
glowings  between  the  lids. 


44      The  Strength   of  the   Pines 

"  Well?  "  he  suddenly  demanded.  Every  man 
in  the  room  —  except  one  —  started.  The  one  ex- 
ception was  Bruce  himself.  He  was  holding  hard 
on  his  nerve  control,  and  he  only  continued  to  stare 
coldly. 

"  Are  you  the  merchant?  "  Bruce  asked. 

"  No,  I  ain't,"  the  other  replied.  "  You  usually 
look  for  the  merchant  behind  the  counter." 

There  was  no  smile  on  the  faces  of  the  waiting 
mountain  men,  usually  to  be  expected  when  one  of 
their  number  achieves  repartee  on  a  tenderfoot. 
Nevertheless,  the  tension  was  broken.  Bruce 
turned  to  the  merchant. 

"  I  would  like  to  have  you  tell  me,"  he  said  quite 
clearly,  "  the  way  to  Mrs.  Ross's  cabin." 

The  merchant  seemed  to  wait  a  long  time  before 
replying.  His  eye  stole  to  the  giant's  face,  found 
the  lips  curled  in  a  smile;  then  he  flushed.  '  Take 
the  left-hand  road,"  he  said  with  a  trace  of  defiance 
in  his  tone.  "  It  soon  becomes  a  trail,  but  keep 
right  on  going  up  it.  At  the  fork  in  the  trail  you  '11 
find  her  cabin." 

"  How  far  is  it,  please?  " 

'  Two  hours'  walk ;  you  can  make  it  easy  by  four 
o'clock." 

"  Thank  you."  His  eyes  glanced  over  the  stock 
of  goods  and  he  selected  a  few  edibles  to  give  him 
strength  for  the  walk.  "  I  '11  leave  my  suitcase 
here  if  I  may,"  he  said,  "  and  will  call  for  it  later." 
He  turned  to  go. 

"  Wait  just  a  minute,"  a  voice  spoke  behind  him. 
It  was  a  commanding  tone  —  implying  the  expec- 


The   Call  of  the   Blood          45 

tation  of  obedience.  Bruce  half  turned.  "  Simon 
wants  to  talk  to  you,"  the  merchant  explained. 

"  I  '11  walk  with  you  a  way  and  show  you  the 
road,"  Simon  continued.  The  room  seemed  deathly 
quiet  as  the  two  men  went  out  together. 

They  walked  side  by  side  until  a  turn  of  the  road 
took  them  out  of  eye-range  of  the  store.  '*  This  is 
the  road,"  Simon  said.  "  All  you  have  to  do  is  fol- 
low it.  Cabins  are  not  so  many  that  you  could  mis- 
take it.  But  the  main  thing  is  —  whether  or  not  you 
want  to  go." 

Bruce  had  no  misunderstanding  about  the  man's 
meaning.  It  was  simply  a  threat,  nothing  more 
nor  less. 

"  I  Ve  come  a  long  way  to  go  to  that  cabin,"  he 
replied.  "  I  'm  not  likely  to  turn  off  now." 

"  There  's  nothing  worth  seeing  when  you  get 
there.  Just  an  old  hag  —  a  wrinkled  old  dame  that 
looks  like  a  witch." 

Bruce  felt  a  deep  and  little  understood  resent- 
ment at  the  words.  Yet  since  he  had  as  yet  estab- 
lished no  relations  with  the  woman,  he  had  no 
grounds  for  silencing  the  man.  "  I  '11  have  to  de- 
cide that,"  he  replied.  "  I  'm  going  to  see  some  one 
else,  too." 

"  Some  one  named  —  Linda?  " 

"  Yes.    You  seem  quite  interested." 

They  were  standing  face  to  face  in  the  trail.  For 
once  Bruce  was  glad  of  his  unusual  height.  He  did 
not  have  to  raise  his  eyes  greatly  to  look  squarely 
into  Simon's.  Both  faces  were  flushed,  both  set; 
and  the  eyes  of  the  older  man  brightened  slowly. 


46       The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

"  I  am  interested,"  Simon  replied.  "  You  're  a 
tenderfoot.  You  're  fresh  from  cities.  You  're  go- 
ing up  there  to  learn  things  that  won't  be  any  pleas- 
ure to  you.  You  're  going  into  the  real  mountains 
—  a  man's  land  such  as  never  was  a  place  for  tender- 
feet.  A  good  many  things  can  happen  up  there.  A 
good  many  things  have  happened  up  there.  I  warn 
you  —  go  back!  " 

Bruce  smiled,  just  the  faint  flicker  of  a  smile,  but 
Simon's  eyes  narrowed  when  he  saw  it.  The  dark 
face  lost  a  little  of  its  insolence.  He  knew  men,  this 
huge  son  of  the  wilderness,  and  he  knew  that  no 
coward  could  smile  in  such  a  moment  as  this.  He 
was  accustomed  to  implicit  obedience  and  was  not 
used  to  seeing  men  smile  when  he  uttered  a  threat. 
;<  I  've  come  too  far  to  go  back,"  Bruce  told  him. 
"  Nothing  can  turn  me." 

"  Men  have  been  turned  before,  on  trails  like 
this,"  Simon  told  him.  "  Don't  misunderstand  me. 
I  advised  you  to  go  back  before,  and  I  usually  don't 
take  time  or  trouble  to  advise  any  one.  Now  I  tell 
you  to  go  back.  This  is  a  man's  land,  and  we  don't 
want  any  tender  feet  here." 

'  The  trail  is  open,"  Bruce  returned.  It  was  not 
his  usual  manner  to  speak  in  quite  this  way.  He 
seemed  at  once  to  have  fallen  into  the  vernacular 
of  the  wilderness  of  which  symbolic  reference  has 
such  a  part.  Strange  as  the  scene  was  to  him,  it  was 
in  some  way  familiar  too.  It  was  as  if  this  meeting 
had  been  ordained  long  ago ;  that  it  was  part  of  an 
inexorable  destiny  that  the  two  should  be  talking 
together,  face  to  face,  on  this  winding  mountain 


The   Call  of  the  Blood         47 

road.  Memories  —  all  vague,  all  unrecognized  — 
thronged  through  him. 

Many  times,  during  the  past  years,  he  had  wak- 
ened from  curious  dreams  that  in  the  light  of  day 
he  had  tried  in  vain  to  interpret.  He  was  never  able 
to  connect  them  with  any  remembered  experience. 
Now  it  was  as  if  one  of  these  dreams  were  coming 
true.  There  was  the  same  silence  about  him,  the 
dark  forests  beyond,  the  ridges  stretching  ever. 
There  was  some  great  foe  that  might  any  instant 
overwhelm  him. 

"I  guess  you  heard  me/'  Simon  said;  "I  told 
you  to  go  back." 

"And  I  hope  you  heard  me  too.  I  'm  going  on. 
I  have  n't  any  more  time  to  give  you." 

"  And  I  'm  not  going  to  take  any  more,  either. 
But  let  me  make  one  thing  plain.  No  man,  told  to 
go  back  by  me,  ever  has  a  chance  to  be  told  again. 
This  ain't  your  cities  —  up  here.  There  ain't  any 
policeman  on  every  corner.  The  woods  are  big,  and 
all  kinds  of  things  can  happen  in  them  —  and  be 
swallowed  up  —  as  I  swallow  these  leaves  in  my 
hand." 

His  great  arm  reached  out  with  incredible  power 
and  seized  a  handful  of  leaves  off  a  near-by  shrub. 
It  seemed  to  Bruce  that  they  crushed  like  fruit  and 
stained  the  dark  skin. 

"  What  is  done  up  here  is  n't  put  in  the  news- 
papers down  below.  We  're  mountain  men ;  we  Ve 
lived  up  here  as  long  as  men  have  lived  in  the  West. 
We  have  our  own  way  of  doing  things,  and  our  own 
law.  Think  once  more  about  going  back." 


48      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

"I  Ve  already  decided.    I  'm  going  on." 

Once  more  they  stood,  eyes  meeting  eyes  on  the 

trail,  and  Simon's  face  was  darkening  with  passion. 

Bruce  knew  that  his  hands  were  clenching,  and  his 

own  muscles  bunched  and  made  ready  to  resist  any 

kind  of  attack. 

But  Simon  didn't  strike.     He  laughed  instead, 
-  a  single  deep  note  of  utter  and  depthless  scorn. 

Then  he  drew  back  and  let  Bruce  pass  on  up  the 

road. 


VII 

BKUCE  could  n't  mistake  the  cabin.  At  the  end 
of  the  trail  he  found  it,  —  a  little  shack  of  unpainted 
boards  with  a  single  door  and  a  single  window. 

He  stood  a  moment  in  the  sunlight.  His  shadow 
was  already  long  behind  him,  and  the  mountains 
had  that  curious  deep  blue  of  late  afternoon.  The 
pine  needles  were  soft  under  his  feet;  the  later-after- 
noon silence  was  over  the  land.  He  could  not  guess 
what  was  his  destiny  behind  that  rude  door.  It  was 
a  moment  long  waited ;  for  one  of  the  few  times  in 
his  life  he  was  trembling  with  excitement.  He  felt 
as  if  a  key,  long  lost,  was  turning  in  the  doorway  of 
understanding. 

He  walked  nearer  and  tapped  with  his  knuckles 
on  the  door. 

If  the  forests  have  one  all-pervading  quality  it  is 
silence.  Of  course  the  most  silent  time  is  at  night, 
but  just  before  sunset,  when  most  of  the  forest  crea- 
tures are  in  their  mid-afternoon  sleep,  any  noise  is 
a  rare  thing.  What  sound  there  is  carries  far  and 
seems  rather  out  of  place.  Bruce  could  picture  the 
whole  of  the  little  drama  that  followed  his  knock  by 
just  the  faint  sounds  —  inaudible  in  a  less  silent 
land  —  that  reached  him  from  behind  the  door.  At 
first  it  was  just  a  start;  then  a  short  exclamation 
in  the  hollow,  half -whispering  voice  of  old,  old  age. 


50       The   Strength  of  the   Pines 

A  moment  more  of  silence  —  as  if  a  slow-moving, 
aged  brain  were  trying  to  conjecture  who  stood  out- 
side —  then  the  creaking  of  a  chair  as  some  one  rose. 
The  last  sounds  were  of  a  strange  hobbling  toward 
him,  —  a  rustle  of  shoes  half  dragged  on  the  floor 
and  the  intermittent  tapping  of  a  cane. 

The  face  that  showed  so  dimly  in  the  shadowed 
room  looked  just  as  Bruce  had  expected,  —  wrin- 
kled past  belief,  lean  and  hawk-nosed  from  age. 
The  hand  that  rested  on  the  cane  was  like  a  bird's 
claw,  the  skin  blue  and  hard  and  dry.  There  were 
a  few  strands  of  hair  drawn  back  over  her  lean  head, 
but  all  its  color  had  faded  out  long  ago.  She  stood 
bowed  over  her  cane. 

Yet  in  that  first  instant  Bruce  had  an  inexplicable 
impression  of  being  in  the  presence  of  a  power.  He 
did  not  have  the  wave  of  pity  with  which  one  usually 
greets  the  decrepit.  And  at  first  he  didn't  know 
why.  But  soon  he  grew  accustomed  to  the  shadows 
and  he  could  see  the  woman's  eyes.  Then  he  under- 
stood. 

They  were  set  deep  behind  grizzled  brows,  but 
they  glowed  like  coals.  There  was  no  other  word. 
They  were  not  the  eyes  of  one  whom  time  is  about 
to  conquer.  Her  bodily  strength  was  gone;  any 
personal  beauty  that  she  might  have  had  was  ashes 
long  and  long  ago,  but  some  great  fire  burned  in  her 
yet.  As  far  as  bodily  appearance  went  the  grave 
should  have  claimed  her  long  since ;  but  a  dauntless 
spirit  had  sustained  her.  For,  as  all  men  know, 
the  power  of  the  spirit  has  never  yet  been  meas- 
ured. 


The   Call   of  the   Blood          5 1 

She  blinked  in  the  light.  "Who  is  it?"  she 
croaked. 

Bruce  did  not  answer.  He  had  not  prepared  a 
reply  for  this  question.  But  it  was  not  needed. 
The  woman  leaned  forward,  and  a  vivid  light  began 
to  dawn  in  her  dark,  furrowed  face. 

Even  to  Bruce,  already  succumbed  to  this  atmos- 
phere of  mystery  into  which  his  adventure  had  led 
him,  that  dawning  light  was  the  single  most  star- 
tling phenomenon  he  had  ever  beheld.  It  is  very 
easy  to  imagine  a  radiance  upon  the  face.  But  in 
reality,  most  all  facial  expression  is  simply  a  change 
in  the  contour  of  lines.  But  this  was  not  a  case  of 
imagination  now.  The  witchlike  face  seemed  to 
gleam  with  a  white  flame.  And  Bruce  knew  that 
his  coming  was  the  answer  to  the  prayer  of  a  whole 
lifetime.  It  was  a  thought  to  sober  him.  No  small 
passion,  no  weak  desire,  no  prayer  that  time  or 
despair  could  silence  could  effect  such  a  light  as 
this. 

"  Bruce,"  he  said  simply.  It  did  not  even  occur 
to  him  to  use  the  surname  of  Duncan.  It  was  a 
name  of  a  time  and  sphere  already  forgotten.  "  I 
don't  know  what  my  real  last  name  is." 

"Bruce  —  Bruce,"  the  woman  whispered.  She 
stretched  a  palsied  hand  to  him  as  if  it  would  feel 
his  flesh  to  reassure  her  of  its  reality.  The  wild 
light  in  her  eyes  pierced  him,  burning  like  chemical 
rays,  and  a  great  flood  of  feeling  yet  unknown  and 
unrecognized  swept  over  him.  He  saw  her  snags 
of  teeth  as  her  dry  lips  half -opened.  He  saw  the 
exultation  in  her  wrinkled,  lifted  face.  "  Oh, 


52      The  Strength  of  the  Pines 

praises  to  His  Everlasting  Name!"  she  cried. 
"Oh,  Glory— Glory  to  on  High!" 

And  this  was  not  blasphemy.  The  words  came 
from  the  heart.  No  matter  how  terrible  the  passion 
from  which  they  sprang,  whether  it  was  such  evil  as 
would  cast  her  to  hell,  such  a  cry  as  this  could  not  go 
unheard.  The  strength  seemed  to  go  out  of  her  as 
water  flows.  She  rocked  on  her  cane,  and  Bruce, 
thinking  she  was  about  to  fall,  seized  her  shoulders. 
"  At  last  —  at  last,"  she  cried.  "  You  've  come  at 
last." 

She  gripped  herself,  as  if  trying  to  find  renewed 
strength.  "  Go  at  once,"  she  said,  "  to  the  end  of 
the  Pine-needle  Trail.  It  leads  from  behind  the 
cabin." 

He  tried  to  emerge  from  the  dreamlike  mists  that 
had  enveloped  him.  "  How  far  is  it?  "  he  asked  her 
steadily. 

"  To  the  end  of  Pine-needle  Trail,"  she  rocked 
again,  clutched  for  one  of  his  brown  hands,  and 
pressed  it  between  hers. 

Then  she  raised  it  to  her  dry  lips.  Bruce  could 
not  keep  her  from  it.  And  after  an  instant  more 
he  did  not  attempt  to  draw  it  from  her  embrace.  In 
the  darkness  of  that  mountain  cabin,  in  the  shadow 
of  the  eternal  pines,  he  knew  that  some  great  drama 
of  human  life  and  love  and  hatred  was  behind  the 
action ;  and  lie  knew  with  a  knowledge  unimpeach- 
able that  it  would  be  only  insolence  for  him  to  try 
further  to  resist  it.  Its  meaning  went  too  deep  for 
him  to  see ;  but  it  filled  him  with  a  great  and  won- 
dering awe. 


The   Call  of  the   Blood  53 

Then  he  turned  away,  up  the  Pine-needle  Trail. 
Clear  until  the  deeper  forest  closed  around  him  her 
voice  still  followed  him,  —  a  strange  croaking  in  the 
afternoon  silence.  "  At  last,"  he  heard  her  crying. 
"  At  last,  at  last." 


VIII 

IN  almost  a  moment,  Duncan  was  out  of  the 
thickets  and  into  the  big  timber,  for  really  the  first 
time.  In  his  journey  up  the  mountain  road  and  on 
the  trail  that  led  to  the  old  woman's  cabin,  he  had 
been  many  times  in  the  shade  of  the  tall  evergreens, 
but  always  there  had  been  some  little  intrusion  of 
civilization,  some  hint  of  the  works  of  man  that  had 
kept  him  from  the  full  sense  of  the  majesty  of  the 
wild.  At  first  it  had  been  the  gleaming  railroad 
tracks,  and  then  a  road  that  had  been  built  with 
blasting  and  shovels.  To  get  the  full  effect  of  the 
forest  one  must  be  able  to  behold  wide-stretching 
vistas,  and  that  had  been  impossible  heretofore  be- 
cause of  the  brush  thickets.  But  this  was  the  virgin 
forest.  As  far  as  he  could  see  there  was  nothing 
but  the  great  pines  climbing  up  the  long  slope  of 
the  ridge.  He  caught  glimpses  of  them  in  the  vales 
at  either  side,  and  their  dark  tops  made  a  curious 
background  at  the  very  extremity  of  his  vision. 
They  stood  straight  and  aloof,  and  they  were  very 
old. 

He  fell  into  their  spirit  at  once.  The  half- 
understood  emotions  that  had  flooded  him  in  the 
cabin  below  died  within  him.  The  great  calm  that  is, 
after  all,  the  all-pervading  quality  of  the  big  pines 
came  over  him.  It  is  always  this  way.  A  man 


The   Call  of  the   Blood         55 

knows  solitude,  his  thoughts  come  clear,  superficial- 
ities are  left  behind  in  the  lands  of  men.  Bruce 
was  rather  tremulous  and  exultant  as  he  crept 
softly  up  the  trail. 

It  was  the  last  lap  of  his  journey.  At  the  end 
of  the  trail  he  would  find  —  Linda!  And  it  seemed 
quite  fitting  that  she  would  be  waiting  there,  where 
the  trail  began,  in  the  wildest  heart  of  the  pine 
woods.  He  was  quite  himself  once  more,  —  care- 
free, delighting  in  all  the  little  manifestations  of 
the  wild  life  that  began  to  stir  about  him. 

No  experience  of  his  existence  had  ever  yielded 
the  same  pleasure  as  that  long  walk  up  the  trail. 
Every  curve  about  the  shoulder  of  a  hill,  every  still 
glen  into  which  he  dipped,  every  ridge  that  he  sur- 
mounted wakened  curious  memories  within  him  and 
stirred  him  in  little  secret  ways  under  the  skin.  His 
delight  grew  upon  him.  It  was  a  dream  coming 
true.  Always,  it  seemed  to  him,  he  had  carried  in 
his  mind  a  picture  of  this  very  land,  a  sort  of 
dream  place  that  was  a  reality  at  last.  He  had 
known  just  how  it  would  be.  The  wind  made  the 
same  noise  in  the  tree  tops  that  he  expected.  Yet 
it  was  such  a  little  sound  that  it  could  never  be  heard 
in  a  city  at  all.  His  senses  had  already  been  sharp- 
ened by  the  silence  and  the  calm. 

He  had  always  known  how  the  pine  shadows 
would  fall  across  the  carpet  of  needles.  The  trees 
themselves  were  the  same  grave  companions  that  he 
had  expected,  but  his  delight  was  all  the  more  be- 
cause of  his  expectations. 

He  began  to  catch  glimpses  of  the  smaller  forest 


56      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

creatures,  —  the  Little  People  that  are  such  a  de- 
light to  all  real  lovers  of  the  wilderness.  Sometimes 
it  was  a  chipmunk,  trusting  to  his  striped  skin  — 
blending  perfectly  with  the  light  and  shadow  —  to 
keep  him  out  of  sight.  These  are  quivering,  rest- 
less, ever- frightened  little  folk,  and  heaven  alone 
knows  what  damage  they  may  do  to  the  roots  of  a 
tree.  But  Bruce  was  n't  in  the  mood  to  think  of 
forest  conservation  to-day.  He  had  left  a  number 
of  his  notions  in  the  city  where  he  had  acquired 
them,  —  and  this  little,  bright-eyed  rodent  in  the 
tree  roots  had  almost  the  same  right  to  the  forests 
that  he  had  himself.  Before,  he  had  a  measure  of 
the  same  arrogance  with  which  most  men  —  realiz- 
ing the  dominance  of  their  breed  —  regard  the  lesser 
people  of  the  wild;  but  something  of  a  disastrous 
nature  had  happened  to  it.  He  spoke  gayly  to  the 
chipmunk  and  passed  on. 

As  the  trail  climbed  higher,  the  sense  of  wilder- 
ness became  more  pronounced.  Even  the  trees 
seemed  larger  and  more  majestic,  and  the  glimpses 
of  the  wild  people  were  more  frequent.  The  birds 
stopped  their  rattle-brained  conversation  and  stared 
at  him  with  frank  curiosity.  The  grouse  let  him  get 
closer  before  they  took  to  cover. 

Of  course  the  bird  life  was  not  nearly  so  varied  as 
in  the  pretty  groves  of  the  Middle  West.  Most 
birds  are  gentle  people,  requiring  an  easy  and  pleas- 
ant environment,  and  these  stern,  stark  mountains 
were  no  place  for  them.  Only  the  hardier  creatures 
could  flourish  here.  Their  songs  would  have  been 
out  of  place  in  the  great  silences  and  solemnity  of 


The   Call   of  the   Blood         57 

the  evergreen  forest.  This  was  no  land  for  weak- 
lings. Bruce  knew  that  as  well  as  he  knew  that  his 
legs  were  under  him.  The  few  birds  he  saw  were 
mostly  of  the  hardier  varieties,  —  hale-fellows-well- 
met  and  cheerful  members  of  the  lower  strata  in 
bird  society.  "  Good  old  roughnecks,"  he  said  to 
them,  with  an  intuitive  understanding. 

That  was  just  the  name  for  them,  —  a  word  that 
is  just  beginning  to  appear  in  dictionaries.  They 
were  rough  in  manner  and  rough  in  speech,  and 
they  pretended  to  be  rougher  than  they  were.  Yet 
Bruce  liked  them.  He  exulted  in  the  easy  freedom 
of  their  ways.  Creatures  have  to  be  rough  to  exist 
in  and  love  such  wilderness  as  this.  Life  gets  down 
to  a  matter  of  cold  metal,  —  some  brass  but  mostly 
iron !  He  rather  imagined  that  they  could  be  fairly 
capable  thieves  if  occasion  arose,  making  off  with 
the  edibles  he  had  bought  without  a  twitch  of  a 
feather.  They  squawked  and  scolded  at  him,  after 
their  curiosity  was  satisfied.  They  said  the  most 
shocking  things  they  could  think  of  and  seemed  to 
rejoice  in  it.  He  did  n't  know  their  breeds,  yet  he 
felt  that  they  were  old  friends.  They  were  rather 
large  birds,  mostly  of  the  families  of  jays  and  mag- 
pies. 

The  hours  passed.  The  trail  grew  dimmer.  Now 
it  was  just  a  brown  serpent  in  the  pine  needles,  coil- 
ing this  way  and  that,  —  but  he  loved  every  foot  of 
it.  It  dipped  down  to  a  little  stream,  of  which  the 
blasting  sun  of  summer  had  made  only  a  succession 
of  shallow  pools.  Yet  the  water  was  cold  to  his  lips. 
And  he  knew  that  little  brook  trout — waiting  until 


58      The   Strength  of  the   Pines 

the  fall  rains  should  make  a  torrent  of  their  tiny 
stream  and  thus  deliver  them  —  were  gazing  at  him 
while  he  drank. 

The  trail  followed  the  creek  a  distance,  and  at 
last  he  found  the  spring  that  was  its  source.  It  was 
only  a  small  spring,  lost  in  a  bed  of  deep,  green 
ferns.  He  sat  down  to  rest  and  to  eat  part  of  his 
lunch.  The  little  wind  had  died,  leaving  a  profound 
silence. 

By  a  queer  pounding  of  his  blood  Bruce  knew 
that  he  was  in  the  high  altitudes.  He  had  already 
come  six  miles  from  the  cabin.  The  hour  was  about 
six-thirty;  in  two  hours  more  it  would  be  too  dark 
to  make  his  way  at  all. 

He  examined  the  mud  about  the  spring,  and  there 
was  plenty  of  evidence  that  the  forest  creatures  had 
passed  that  way.  Here  was  a  little  triangle  where 
a  buck  had  stepped,  and  farther  away  he  found  two 
pairs  of  deer  tracks,  —  evidently  those  of  a  doe  with 
fawn.  A  wolf  had  stopped  to  cool  his  heated  tongue 
in  the  waters,  possibly  in  the  middle  of  some  terrible 
hunt  in  the  twilight  hours. 

There  was  a  curious  round  track,  as  if  of  a  giant 
cat,  a  little  way  distant  in  the  brown  earth.  It  told 
a  story  plainly.  A  cougar  —  one  of  those  great 
felines  that  is  perhaps  better  called  puma  —  had 
had  an  ambush  there  a  few  nights  before.  Bruce 
wondered  what  wilderness  tragedy  had  transpired 
when  the  deer  came  to  drink.  Then  he  found  an- 
other huge  abrasion  in  the  mud  that  puzzled  him 
still  more. 

At  first  he  could  n't  believe  that  it  was  a  track. 


The   Call  of  the   Blood  59 

The  reason  was  simply  that  the  size  of  the  thing 
was  incredible,  —  as  if  some  one  had  laid  a  flour 
sack  in  the  mud  and  taken  it  up  again.  He  did 
not  think  of  any  of  the  modern-day  forest  creatures 
as  being  of  such  proportions.  It  was  very  stale 
and  had  been  almost  obliterated  by  many  days  of 
sun.  Perhaps  he  had  been  mistaken  in  thinking  it 
an  imprint  of  a  living  creature.  He  went  to  his 
knees  to  examine  it. 

But  in  one  instant  he  knew  that  he  had  not  been 
mistaken.  It  was  a  track  not  greatly  different  from 
that  of  an  enormous  human  foot;  and  the  separate 
toes  were  entirely  distinct.  It  was  a  bear  track,  of 
course,  but  one  of  such  size  that  the  general  run 
of  little  black  bears  that  inhabited  the  hills  could 
almost  use  it  for  a  den  of  hibernation! 

His  thought  went  back  to  his  talk  with  Barney 
Wegan;  and  he  remembered  that  the  man  had 
spoken  of  a  great,  last  grizzly  that  the  mountaineers 
had  named  "  The  Killer."  No  other  animal  but  the 
great  grizzly  bear  himself  could  have  made  such  a 
track  as  this.  Bruce  wondered  if  the  beast  had  yet 
been  killed. 

He  got  up  and  went  on,  —  farther  toward  Trail's 
End.  He  walked  more  swiftly  now,  for  he  hoped 
to  reach  the  end  of  Pine-needle  Trail  before  night- 
fall, but  he  had  no  intention  of  halting  in  case  night 
came  upon  him  before  he  reached  it.  He  had  waited 
too  long  already  to  find  Linda. 

The  land  seemed  ever  more  familiar.  A  high 
peak  thrust  a  white  head  above  a  distant  ridge,  and 
it  appealed  to  him  almost  like  the  face  of  an  old 


60      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

friend.  Sometime  —  long  and  long  ago  —  he  had 
gazed  often  at  a  white  peak  of  a  mountain  thrust 
above  a  pine-covered  ridge. 

Another  hour  ended  the  day's  sunlight.  The 
shadows  fell  quickly,  but  it  was  a  long  time  yet  until 
darkness.  He  yet  might  make  the  trail-end.  He 
gave  no  thought  to  fatigue.  In  the  first  place,  he 
had  stood  up  remarkably  well  under  the  day's  tramp 
for  no  other  reason  than  that  he  had  always  made 
a  point  of  keeping  in  the  best  of  physical  condition. 
Besides,  there  was  something  more  potent  than  mere 
physical  strength  to  sustain  him  now.  It  was  the 
realization  of  the  nearing  end  of  the  trail,  —  a 
knowledge  of  tremendous  revelations  that  would 
come  to  him  in  a  few  hours  more. 

Already  great  truths  were  taking  shape  in  his 
brain;  he  only  needed  a  single  sentence  of  explana- 
tion to  connect  them  all  together.  He  began  to  feel 
a  growing  excitement  and  impatience. 

For  the  first  time  he  began  to  notice  a  strange 
breathlessness  in  the  air.  He  paused,  just  for  an 
instant,  his  face  lifted  to  the  wind.  He  did  not 
realize  that  all  his  senses  were  at  razor  edge,  trying 
to  interpret  the  messages  that  the  wind  brought. 
He  felt  that  the  forest  was  wakening.  A  new  stir 
and  impulse  had  come  in  the  growing  shadows,  All 
at  once  he  understood.  It  was  the  hunting  hour. 

Yet  even  this  seemed  familiar.  Always,  it  seemed 
to  him,  he  had  known  this  same  strange  thrill  at  the 
fall  of  darkness,  the  same  sense  of  deepening  mys- 
tery. The  jays  no  longer  gossiped  in  the  shrubs. 
They  had  been  silenced  by  the  same  awe  that  had 


The  Call  of  the  Blood         61 

come  over  Bruce.  And  now  the  man  began  to  dis- 
cern, here  and  there  through  the  forest,  queer  rus- 
tlings of  the  foliage  that  meant  the  passing  through 
of  some  of  the  great  beasts  of  prey. 

Once  two  deer  flashed  by  him,  —  just  a  streak 
that  vanished  quickly.  The  dusk  deepened.  The 
further  trees  were  dimming.  The  sky  turned  green, 
then  gray.  The  distant  mountains  were  enfolded 
in  gloom.  Bruce  headed  on  —  faster,  up  the  trail. 

The  heaviness  in  his  limbs  had  changed  to  an 
actual  ache,  but  he  gave  no  thought  to  it.  He  was 
enthralled  by  the  change  that  was  on  the  forest,  — 
a  whipping-back  of  a  thousand-thousand  years  to 
a  young  and  savage  world.  There  was  the  sense  of 
vast  and  tragic  events  all  in  keeping  with  the  gath- 
ering gloom  of  the  forest.  He  was  awed  and  mys- 
tified as  never  before. 

It  was  quite  dark  now,  and  he  could  barely  see 
the  trail.  For  the  first  time  he  began  to  despair, 
feeling  that  another  night  of  overpowering  impa- 
tience must  be  spent  before  he  could  reach  Trail's 
End.  The  stars  began  to  push  through  the  darken- 
ing sky.  Then,  fainter  than  the  gleam  of  a  firefly, 
he  saw  the  faint  light  of  a  far  distant  camp  fire. 

His  heart  bounded.  He  knew  what  was  there. 
It  was  the  end  of  the  trail  at  last.  And  it  guided 
him  the  rest  of  the  way.  When  he  reached  the  top 
of  a  little  rise  in  the  trail,  the  whole  scene  was  laid 
out  in  mystery  below  him. 

The  fire  had  been  built  at  the  door  of  a  mountain 
house,  —  a  log  structure  of  perhaps  four  rooms. 
The  firelight  played  in  its  open  doorway.  Some- 


62      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

thing  beside  it  caught  his  attention,  and  instinctively 
he  followed  it  with  his  eyes  until  it  ended  in  an  in- 
credible region  of  the  stars.  It  was  a  great  pine 
tree,  the  largest  he  had  ever  seen,  —  seemingly  a 
great  sentinel  over  all  the  land. 

But  the  sudden  awe  that  came  over  him  at  the 
sight  of  it  was  cut  short  by  the  sight  of  a  girl's  fig- 
ure in  the  firelight.  He  had  an  instant's  sense  that 
he  had  come  to  the  wilderness's  heart  at  last,  that 
this  tall  tree  was  its  symbol,  that  if  he  could  under- 
stand the  eternal  watch  that  it  kept  over  this  moun- 
tain world,  he  would  have  an  understanding  of  all 
things,  —  but  all  these  thoughts  were  submerged  in 
the  realization  that  he  had  come  back  to  Linda  at 
last. 

He  had  known  how  the  mountains  would  seem. 
All  that  he  had  beheld  to-day  was  just  the  recur- 
rence of  things  beheld  long  ago.  Nothing  had 
seemed  different  from  what  he  had  expected;  rather 
he  had  a  sense  that  a  lost  world  had  been  returned 
to  him,  and  it  was  almost  as  if  he  had  never  been 
away.  But  the  girl  in  the  firelight  did  not  answer 
in  the  least  degree  the  picture  he  had  carried  of 
Linda. 

He  remembered  her  as  a  blond-headed  little  girl 
with  irregular  features  and  a  rather  unreasonable 
allowance  of  homeliness.  All  the  way  he  had 
thought  of  her  as  a  baby  sister,  —  not  as  a  woman 
in  her  flower.  For  a  long  second  he  gazed  at  her  in 
speechless  amazement. 

Her  hair  was  no  longer  blond.  True,  it  had 
peculiar  red  lights  when  the  firelight  shone 


The   Call  of  the   Blood  63 

through  it;  but  he  knew  that  by  the  light  of 
day  it  would  be  deep  brown.  He  remembered 
her  as  an  awkward  little  thing  that  was  hardly 
able  to  keep  her  feet  under  her.  This  tall  girl  had 
the  wilderness  grace,  —  which  is  the  grace  of  a  deer 
and  only  blind  eyes  cannot  see  it.  He  dimly  knew 
that  she  wore  a  khaki-colored  skirt  and  a  simple 
blouse  of  white  tied  with  a  blue  scarf.  Her  arms 
were  bare  in  the  fire's  gleam.  And  there  was  a 
dark  beauty  about  her  face  that  simply  could  not 
be  denied. 

She  came  toward  him,  and  her  hands  were  open 
before  her.  And  her  lips  trembled.  Bruce  could 
see  them  in  the  firelight. 

It  was  a  strange  meeting.  The  firelight  gave  it  a 
tone  of  unreality,  and  the  whole  forest  world  seemed 
to  pause  in  its  whispered  business  as  if  to  watch. 
It  was  as  if  they  had  been  brought  face  to  face  by 
the  mandates  of  an  inexorable  destiny. 

"  So  you  Ve  come,"  the  girl  said.  The  words 
were  spoken  unusually  soft,  scarcely  above  a  whis- 
per; but  they  were  inexpressibly  vivid  to  Bruce. 
In  his  lifetime  he  had  heard  many  words  that  were 
just  so  many  lifeless  selections  from  a  dictionary,  - 
flat  utterances  with  no  overtones  to  give  them  vital- 
ity. He  had  heard  voices  in  plenty  that  were  merely 
the  mechanical  result  of  the  vibration  of  vocal 
cords.  But  these  words  —  not  for  their  meaning 
but  because  of  the  quality  of  the  voice  that  had 
spoken  them  —  really  lived.  They  told  first  of  a 
boundless  relief  and  joy  at  his  coming.  But  more 
than  that,  in  these  deep  vibrant  tones  was  the  ex- 


6  4      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

pression  of  an  unquenchable  life  and  spirit.  Every 
fiber  of  her  body  lived  in  the  fullest  sense ;  he  knew 
this  fact  the  instant  that  she  spoke. 

She  smiled  at  him,  ever  so  quietly.  "  Bwovaboo," 
she  said,  recalling  the  name  by  which  she  called  him 
in  her  babyhood,  "  you  Ve  come  to  Linda." 


IX 

As  the  fire  burned  down  to  coals  and  the  stars 
wheeled  through  the  sky,  Linda  told  her  story.  The 
two  of  them  were  seated  in  the  soft  grass  in  front  of 
the  cabin,  and  the  moonlight  was  on  Linda's  face 
as  she  talked.  She  talked  very  low  at  first.  In- 
deed there  was  no  need  for  loud  tones.  The  whole 
wilderness  world  was  heavy  with  silence,  and  a 
whisper  carried  far.  Besides,  Bruce  was  just  be- 
side her,  watching  her  with  narrowed  eyes,  forgetful 
of  everything  except  her  story. 

It  was  a  perfect  background  for  the  savage  tale 
that  she  had  to  tell.  The  long  shadow  of  the  giant 
pine  tree  fell  over  them.  The  fire  made  a  little  circle 
of  red  light,  but  the  darkness  ever  encroached  upon 
it.  Just  beyond  the  moonlight  showed  them  silver- 
white  patches  between  the  trees,  across  which  shad- 
ows sometimes  wavered  from  the  passing  of  the 
wild  creatures. 

"  I  've  waited  a  long  time  to  tell  you  this,"  she 
told  him.  "  Of  course,  when  we  were  babies  to- 
gether in  the  orphanage,  I  did  n't  even  know  it.  It 
has  taken  me  a  long  time  since  to  learn  all  the  de- 
tails ;  most  of  them  I  got  from  my  aunt,  old  Elmira, 
whom  you  talked  to  on  the  way  out.  Part  of  it  I 
knew  by  intuition,  and  a  little  of  it  is  still  doubtful. 

"  You  ought  to  know  first  how  hard  I  have  tried 


66      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

to  reach  you.  Of  course,  I  did  n't  try  openly  except 
at  first  —  the  first  years  after  I  came  here,  and  be- 
fore I  was  old  enough  to  understand."  She  spoke 
the  last  word  with  a  curious  depth  of  feeling  and  a 
perceptible  hardness  about  her  lips  and  eyes.  "  I 
remembered  j  ust  two  things.  That  the  man  who  had 
adopted  you  was  Newton  Duncan ;  one  of  the  nurses 
at  the  asylum  told  me  that.  And  I  remembered  the 
name  of  the  city  where  he  had  taken  you. 

"  You  must  understand  the  difficulties  I  worked 
under.  There  is  no  rural  free  delivery  up  here,  you 
know,  Bruce.  Our  mail  is  sent  from  and  delivered 
to  the  little  post-office  at  Martin's  store  —  over 
fifteen  miles  from  here.  And  some  one  member  of 
a  certain  family  that  lives  near  here  goes  down  every 
week  to  get  the  mail  for  the  entire  district. 

"At  first  —  and  that  was  before  I  really  un- 
derstood —  I  wrote  you  many  letters  and  gave  them 
to  one  of  this  family  to  mail  for  me.  I  was  just  a 
child  then,  you  must  know,  and  I  lived  in  the  same 
house  with  these  people.  And  queer  letters  they 
must  have  been." 

For  an  instant  a  smile  lingered  at  her  lips,  but  it 
seemed  to  come  hard.  It  was  all  too  plain  that  she 
had  n't  smiled  many  times  in  the  past  days.  But  for 
some  unaccountable  reason  Bruce's  heart  leaped 
when  he  saw  it.  It  had  potentialities,  that  smile. 
It  seemed  to  light  her  whole  face.  He  was  suddenly 
exultant  at  the  thought  that  once  he  understood 
everything,  he  might  bring  about  such  changes  that 
he  could  see  it  often. 

"  They  were  just  baby  letters  from — from  Linda- 


The   Call  of  the   Blood  67 

Tinda  to  Bwovaboo  —  letters  about  the  deer  and 
the  berries  and  the  squirrels  —  and  all  the  wild 
things  that  lived  up  here." 

"  Berries !  "  Bruce  cried.  "  I  had  some  on  the 
way  up."  His  tone  wavered,  and  he  seemed  to  be 
speaking  far  away.  "  I  had  some  once  —  long  ago." 

"  Yes.  You  will  understand,  soon.  I  did  n't  un- 
derstand why  you  did  n't  answer  my  letters.  I  un- 
derstand now,  though.  You  never  got  them." 

"  No.  I  never  got  them.  But  there  are  several 
Duncans  in  my  city.  They  might  have  gone  astray." 

'  They  went  astray  —  but  it  was  before  they  ever 
reached  the  post-office.  They  were  never  mailed, 
Bruce.  I  was  to  know  why,  later.  Even  then  it  was 
part  of  the  plan  that  I  should  never  get  in  communi- 
cation with  you  again  —  that  you  would  be  lost  to 
me  forever. 

'  When  I  got  older,  I  tried  other  tacks.  I  wrote 
to  the  asylum,  enclosing  a  letter  to  you.  But  those 
letters  were  not  mailed,  either. 

"  Now  we  can  skip  a  long  time.  I  grew  up.  I 
knew  everything  at  last  and  no  longer  lived  with 
the  family  I  mentioned  before.  I  came  here,  to  this 
old  house  —  and  made  it  decent  to  live  in.  I  cut  my 
own  wood  for  my  fuel  except  when  one  of  the  men 
tried  to  please  me  by  cutting  it  for  me.  I  would  n't 
use  it  at  first.  Oh,  Bruce  —  I  would  n't  touch  it !  " 

Her  face  was  no  longer  lovely.  It  was  drawn 
with  terrible  passions.  But  she  quieted  at  once. 

"  At  last  I  saw  plainly  that  I  was  a  little  fool  — 
that  all  they  would  do  for  me,  the  better  off  I  was. 
At  first,  I  almost  starved  to  death  because  I 


68      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

would  n't  use  the  food  that  they  sent  me.  I  tried  to 
grub  it  out  of  the  hills.  But  I  came  to  it  at  last.  But, 
Bruce,  there  were  many  things  I  didn't  come  to. 
Since  I  learned  the  truth,  I  have  never  given  one  of 
them  a  smile  except  in  scorn,  not  a  word  that  was  n't 
a  word  of  hate. 

'  You  are  a  city  man,  Bruce.  You  are  what  I 
read  about  as  a  gentleman.  You  don't  know  what 
hate  means.  It  doesn't  live  in  the  cities.  But  it 
lives  up  here.  Believe  me  if  you  ever  believed  any- 
thing —  that  it  lives  up  here.  The  most  bitter  and 
the  blackest  hate  —  from  birth  until  death!  It 
burns  out  the  heart,  Bruce.  But  I  don't  know  that 
I  can  make  you  understand." 

She  paused,  and  Bruce  looked  away  into  the  pine 
forest.  He  believed  the  girl.  He  knew  that  this 
grim  land  was  the  home  of  direct  and  primitive  emo- 
tions. Such  things  as  mercy  and  remorse  were  out 
of  place  in  the  game  trails  where  the  wolf  pack 
hunted  the  deer. 

"  When  they  knew  how  I  hated  them,"  she  went 
on,  "  they  began  to  watch  me.  And  once  they  knew 
that  I  fully  understood  the  situation,  I  was  no 
longer  allowed  to  leave  this  little  valley.  There  are 
only  two  trails,  Bruce.  One  goes  to  Elmira's  cabin 
on  the  way  to  the  store.  The  other  encircles  the 
mountain.  With  all  their  numbers,  it  was  easy  to 
keep  watch  of  those  trails.  And  they  told  me  what 
they  would  do  if  they  found  me  trying  to  go  past." 

"  You  don't  mean  —  they  threatened  you?  " 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed,  but  the 
sound  had  no  joy  in  it.  "Threatened!  If  you 


The  Call  of  the   Blood          69 

think  threats  are  common  up  here,  you  are  a  greener 
tenderfoot  than  I  ever  took  you  for.  Bruce,  the  law 
up  here  is  the  law  of  force.  The  strongest  wins. 
The  weakest  dies.  Wait  till  you  see  Simon.  You  '11 
understand  then  —  and  you  '11  shake  in  your  shoes." 

The  words  grated  upon  him,  yet  he  did  n't  resent 
them.  "  I  Ve  seen  Simon,"  he  told  her. 

She  glanced  toward  him  quickly,  and  it  was  en- 
tirely plain  that  the  quiet  tone  in  his  voice  had  sur- 
prised her.  Perhaps  the  faintest  flicker  of  admira- 
tion came  into  her  eyes. 

"  He  tried  to  stop  you,  did  he?  Of  course  he 
would.  And  you  came  anyway.  May  Heaven  bless 
you  for  it,  Bruce!"  She  leaned  toward  him,  ap- 
pealing. "  And  forgive  me  what  I  said." 

Bruce  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  He  could 
hardly  realize  that  this  was  the  same  voice  that  had 
been  so  torn  with  passion  a  moment  before.  In  an 
instant  all  her  hardness  was  gone,  and  the  tenderness 
of  a  sweet  and  wholesome  nature  had  taken  its  place. 
He  felt  a  curious  warmth  stealing  over  him. 

"  They  meant  what  they  said,  Bruce.  Believe  me, 
if  those  men  can  do  no  other  thing,  they  can  keep 
their  word.  They  did  n't  just  threaten  death  to  me. 
I  could  have  run  the  risk  of  that.  Badly  as  I  wanted 
to  make  them  pay  before  I  died,  I  would  have  gladly 
run  that  risk. 

'  You  are  amazed  at  the  free  way  I  speak  of 
death.  The  girls  you  know,  in  the  city,  don't  even 
know  the  word.  They  don't  know  what  it  means. 
They  don't  understand  the  sudden  end  of  the  light 
—  the  darkness  —  the  cold  —  the  awful  fear  that  it 


70      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

is!  It  is  no  companion  of  theirs,  down  in  the  city. 
Perhaps  they  see  it  once  in  a  while  —  but  it  is  n't  in 
their  homes  and  in  the  air  and  on  the  trails,  like  it  is 
here.  It 's  a  reality  here,  something  to  fight  against 
every  hour  of  every  day.  There  are  just  three  things 
to  do  in  the  mountains  —  to  live  and  love  and  hate. 
There  's  no  softness.  There  's  no  middle  ground." 
She  smiled  grimly.  "  Let  them  live  up  here  with 
me  —  those  girls  you  know  —  and  they  'd  under- 
stand what  a  reality  Death  is.  They  'd  know  it  was 
something  to  think  about  and  fight  against.  Self- 
preservation  is  an  instinct  that  can  be  forgotten 
when  you  have  a  policeman  at  every  corner.  But 
it  is  ever  present  here. 

"  I  've  lived  with  death,  and  I  Ve  heard  of  it,  and 
I  've  seen  it  all  my  life.  If  there  had  n't  been  any 
other  way,  I  would  have  seen  it  in  the  dramas  of  the 
wild  creatures  that  go  on  around  me  all  the  time. 
You  '11  get  down  to  cases  here,  Bruce  —  or  else 
you  '11  run  away.  These  men  said  they  'd  do  worse 
things  to  me  than  kill  me  —  and  I  did  n't  dare  take 
the  risk. 

"  But  once  or  twice  I  was  able  to  get  word  to  old 
Elmira  —  the  only  ally  I  had  left.  She  was  of  the 
true  breed,  Bruce.  You  '11  call  her  a  hag,  but  she  's 
a  woman  to  be  reckoned  with.  She  could  hate  too 
—  worse  than  a  she-rattlesnake  hates  the  man  that 
killed  her  mate  —  and  hating  is  all  that 's  kept  her 
alive.  You  shrink  when  I  say  the  word.  Maybe 
you  won't  shrink  when  I  'm  done.  Hating  is  a  thing 
that  gentlefolk  don't  do  —  but  gentlefolk  don't  live 
up  here.  It  is  n't  a  land  of  gentleness.  Up  here 


The   Call   of  the   Blood  71 

there  are  just  men  and  women,  just  male  and 
female. 

"  This  old  woman  tried  to  get  in  communication 
with  every  stranger  that  visited  the  hills.  You  see, 
Bruce,  she  could  n't  write  herself.  And  the  one 
time  I  managed  to  get  a  written  message  down  to 
her,  telling  her  to  give  it  to  the  first  stranger  to  mail 

—  one  of  my  enemies  got  it  away  from  her.    I  ex- 
pected to  die  that  night.    I  was  n't  going  to  be  alive 
when  the  clan  came.    The  only  reason  I  did  n't  was 
because  Simon  —  the  greatest  of  them  all  and  the 
one  I  hate  the  most  —  kept  his  clan  from  coming. 
He  had  his  own  reasons. 

"  From  then  on  she  had  to  depend  on  word  of 
mouth.  Some  of  the  men  promised  to  send  letters  to 
Newton  Duncan  —  but  there  was  more  than  one 
Newton  Duncan  —  as  you  say  —  and  possibly  if 
the  letters  were  sent  they  went  astray.  But  at  last 

—  just  a  few  weeks  ago  —  she  found  a  man  that 
knew  you.    And  it  is  your  story  from  now  on." 

They  were  still  a  little  while.  Bruce  arose  and 
threw  more  wood  on  the  fire. 

"  It 's  only  the  beginning,"  he  said. 

"  And  you  want  me  to  tell  you  all? "  she  asked 
hesitantly. 

"  Of  course.    Why  did  I  come  here?  " 

'  You  won't  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  'm 
almost  sorry  I  sent  for  you."  She  spoke  almost 
breathlessly.  "  I  did  n't  know  that  it  would  be  like 
this.  That  you  would  come  with  a  smile  on  your 
face  and  a  light  in  your  eyes,  looking  for  happiness. 
And  instead  of  happiness —  to  find  all  this! " 


72       The  Strength  of  the   Piaes 

She  stretched  her  arms  to  the  forests.  Bruce  un- 
derstood her  perfectly.  She  did  not  mean  the  woods 
in  the  literal  sense.  She  meant  the  primal  emotions 
that  were  their  spirit. 

She  went  on  with  lowered  tones.  "  May  Heaven 
forgive  me  if  I  have  done  wrong  to  bring  you  here," 
she  told  him.  "  To  show  you  —  all  that  I  have  to 
show  —  you  who  are  a  city  man  and  a  gentleman. 
But,  Bruce,  I  could  n't  fight  alone  any  more.  I  had 
to  have  help. 

"  To  know  the  rest,  you  've  got  to  go  back  a 
whole  generation.  Bruce,  have  you  heard  of  the 
terrible  blood-feuds  that  the  mountain  families 
sometimes  have?  " 

"  Of  course.    Many  times." 

"  These  mountains  of  Trail's  End  have  been  the 
scene  of  as  deadly  a  blood-feud  as  was  ever  known 
in  the  West.  And  for  once,  the  wrong  was  all  on 
one  side. 

"  A  few  miles  from  here  there  is  a  wonderful  val- 
ley, where  a  stream  flows.  There  is  not  much  tilla- 
ble land  in  these  mountains,  Bruce,  but  there,  along 
that  little  stream,  there  are  almost  five  sections  - 
three  thousand  acres  —  of  as  rich  land  as  was  ever 
plowed.  And  Bruce  —  the  home  means  something 
in  the  mountains.  It  is  n't  just  a  place  to  live  in, 
a  place  to  leave  with  relief.  I  've  tried  to  tell  you 
that  emotions  are  simple  and  direct  up  here,  and  love 
of  home  is  one  of  them.  That  tract  of  land  was  ac- 
quired long  ago  by  a  family  named  Ross,  and  they 
got  it  through  some  kind  of  grant.  I  can't  be 
definite  as  to  the  legal  aspects  of  all  this  story. 


The   Call  of  the   Blood  73 

They  don't  matter  anyway  —  only  the  results  re- 
main. 

"  These  Ross  men  were  frontiersmen  of  the  first 
order.  They  were  virtuous  men  too  —  trusting 
every  one,  and  oh!  what  strength  they  had  I  With 
their  own  hands  they  cleared  away  the  forest  and 
put  the  land  into  rich  pasture  and  hay  and  grain. 
They  built  a  great  house  for  the  owner  of  the  land, 
and  lesser  houses  for  his  kinsfolk  that  helped  him 
work  it  on  shares.  Then  they  raised  cattle,  letting 
them  range  on  the  hills  and  feeding  them  in  winter. 
You  see,  the  snow  is  heavy  in  winter,  and  unless  the 
stock  are  fed  many  of  them  die.  The  Rosses  raised 
great  herds  of  cattle  and  had  flocks  of  sheep  too. 

"  It  was  then  that  dark  days  began  to  come.  An- 
other family  —  headed  by  the  father  of  the  man  I 
call  Simon  —  migrated  here  from  the  mountain  dis- 
tricts of  Oklahoma.  But  they  were  not  so  ignorant 
as  many  mountain  people,  and  they  were  killers. 
Perhaps  that 's  a  word  you  don't  know.  Perhaps 
you  did  n't  know  it  existed.  A  killer  is  a  man  that 
has  killed  other  men.  It  is  n't  a  hard  thing  to  do  at 
all,  Bruce,  after  you  are  used  to  it.  These  people 
were  used  to  it.  And  because  they  wanted  these 
great  lands  —  my  own  father's  home — they  began 
to  kill  the  Rosses. 

"  At  first  they  made  no  war  on  the  Folgers. 
The  Folgers,  you  must  know,  were  good  people  too, 
honest  to  the  last  penny.  They  were  connected,  by 
marriage  only,  to  the  Ross  family.  They  were  on 
our  side  clear  through.  At  the  beginning  of  the 
feud  the  head  of  the  Folger  family  was  just  a  young 


74      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

man,  newly  married.  And  he  had  a  son  after  a 
while. 

"  The  newcomers  called  it  a  feud.  But  it  was  n't 
a  feud  —  it  was  simply  murder.  Oh,  yes,  we  killed 
some  of  them.  Folger  and  my  father  and  all  his  kin 
united  against  them,  making  a  great  clan — but 
they  were  nothing  in  strength  compared  to  the 
usurpers.  Simon  himself  was  just  a  boy  when  it 
began.  But  he  grew  to  be  the  greatest  power,  the 
leader  of  the  enemy  clan  before  he  was  twenty-one. 

'  You  must  know,  Bruce,  that  my  own  father 
held  the  land.  But  he  was  so  generous  that  his 
brothers  who  helped  him  farm  it  hardly  realized 
that  possession  was  in  his  name.  And  father  was  a 
dead  shot.  It  took  a  long  time  before  they  could 
kill  him." 

The  coldness  that  had  come  over  her  words  did 
not  in  the  least  hide  her  depth  of  feeling.  She 
gazed  moodily  into  the  darkness  and  spoke  almost 
in  a  monotone. 

"  But  Simon — just  a  boy  then — and  Dave,  his 
brother,  and  the  others  of  them  kept  after  us  like  so 
many  wolves.  There  was  no  escape.  The  only 
thing  we  could  do  was  to  fight  back — and  that 
was  the  way  we  learned  to  hate.  A  man  can  hate, 
Bruce,  when  he  is  fighting  for  his  home.  He  can 
learn  it  very  well  when  he  sees  his  brother  fall  dead, 
or  his  father  —  or  a  stray  bullet  hit  his  wife.  A 
woman  can  learn  it  too,  as  old  Elmira  did,  when  she 
finds  her  son's  body  in  the  dead  leaves.  There  was 
no  law  here  to  stop  it.  The  little  semblance  of  law 
that  was  in  the  valleys  below  regarded  it  as  a  blood- 


The  Call  of  the   Blood         75 

feud,  and  did  n't  bother  itself  about  it.  Besides  — 
at  first  we  were  too  proud  to  call  for  help.  And 
after  our  numbers  were  few,  the  trails  were  watched 

—  and  those  who  tried  to  go  down  into  the  valleys 

—  never  got  there. 

"  One  after  another  the  Rosses  were  killed,  and 
I  needn't  make  it  any  worse  for  you  than  I  can 
help  —  by  telling  of  each  killing.  Enough  to  say 
that  at  last  no  one  was  left  except  a  few  old  men 
whose  eyes  were  too  dim  to  shoot  straight,  and  my 
own  father.  And  I  was  a  baby  then — just  born. 

"Then  one  night  my  father — seeing  the  fate 
that  was  coming  down  upon  him  —  took  the  last 
course  to  defeat  them.  Matthew  Folger  —  a  con- 
nection by  marriage  —  was  still  alive.  Simon's 
clan  had  n't  attacked  him  yet.  He  had  no  share  in 
the  land,  but  instead  lived  in  this  house  I  live  in  now. 
He  had  a  few  cattle  and  some  pasture  land  farther 
down  the  Divide.  There  had  been  no  purpose  in 
killing  him.  He  had  n't  been  worth  the  extra  bullet. 

"  One  night  my  father  left  me  asleep  and  stole 
through  the  forests  to  talk  to  him.  They  made  an 
agreement.  I  have  pieced  it  out,  a  little  at  a  time. 
My  father  deeded  all  his  land  to  Folger. 

"  I  can  understand  now.  The  enemy  clan  pre- 
tended it  was  a  blood-feud  only  —  and  that  it  was 
fair  war  to  kill  the  Rosses.  Although  my  father 
knew  their  real  aim  was  to  obtain  the  land,  he  did  n't 
think  they  would  dare  kill  Matthew  Folger  to  get 
it.  He  knew  that  he  himself  would  fall,  sooner  or 
later,  but  he  thought  that  to  kill  Folger  would 
show  their  cards  —  and  that  would  be  too  much, 


76      The  Strength   of  the   Pines 

even  for  Simon's  people.  But  he  did  n't  know.  He 
had  n't  foreseen  to  what  lengths  they  would  go." 

Bruce  leaned  forward.  "  So  they  killed  —  Mat- 
thew Folger?  "  he  asked. 

He  did  n't  know  that  his  face  had  gone  suddenly 
stark  white,  and  that  a  curious  glitter  had  come  to 
his  eyes.  He  spoke  breathlessly.  For  the  name  — 
Matthew  Folger  —  called  up  vague  memories  that 
seemed  to  reveal  great  truths  to  him.  The  girl 
smiled  grimly. 

"Let  me  go  on.  My  father  deeded  Folger  the 
land.  The  deed  was  to  go  on  record  so  that  all  the 
world  would  know  that  Folger  owned  it,  and  if 
the  clan  killed  him  it  was  plainly  for  the  purposes 
of  greed  alone.  But  there  was  also  a  secret  agree- 
ment—  drawn  up  in  black  and  white  and  to  be 
kept  hidden  for  twenty-one  years.  In  this  agree- 
ment, Folger  promised  to  return  to  me  —  the  only 
living  heir  of  the  Rosses  —  the  lands  acquired  by 
the  deed.  In  reality,  he  was  only  holding  them  in 
trust  for  me,  and  was  to  return  them  when  I  was 
twenty-one.  In  case  of  my  father's  death,  Folger 
was  to  be  my  guardian  until  that  time. 

"  Folger  knew  the  risk  he  ran,  but  he  was  a  brave 
man  and  he  did  not  care.  Besides,  he  was  my 
father's  friend  —  and  friendship  goes  far  in  the 
mountains.  And  my  father  was  shot  down  before 
a  week  was  past. 

"  The  clan  had  acted  quick,  you  see.  When  Fol- 
ger heard  of  it,  before  the  dawn,  he  came  to  my 
father's  house  and  carried  me  away.  Before  an- 
other night  was  done  he  was  killed  too." 


The   Call  of  the   Blood          77 

The  perspiration  leaped  out  on  Brace's  forehead. 
The  red  glow  of  the  fire  was  in  his  eyes. 

"  He  fell  almost  where  this  fire  is  built,  with  a 
thirty-thirty  bullet  in  his  brain.  Which  one  of  the 
clan  killed  him  I  do  not  know  —  but  in  all  prob- 
ability it  was  Simon  himself  —  at  that  time  only 
eighteen  years  of  age.  And  Folger's  little  boy  — 
something  past  four  years  old  —  wandered  out  in 
the  moonlight  to  find  his  father's  body." 

The  girl  was  speaking  slowly  now,  evidently 
watching  the  effect  of  her  words  on  her  listener. 
He  was  bent  forward,  and  his  breath  came  in  queer, 
whispering  gusts.  "  Go  on!  "  he  ordered  savagely. 
'*  Tell  me  the  rest.  Why  do  you  keep  me  waiting?  " 

The  girl  smiled  again,  — like  a  sorceress.  "  Fol- 
ger's wife  was  from  the  plains'  country,"  she  told 
him  slowly.  "If  she  had  been  of  the  mountains  she 
might  have  remained  to  do  some  killing  on  her  own 
account.  Like  old  Elmira  herself  remained  to  do 
—  killing  on  her  own  account !  But  she  was  from 
cities,  just  as  you  are,  but  she  —  unlike  you  —  had 
no  mountain  blood  in  her.  She  wasn't  used  to 
death,  and  perhaps  she  did  n't  know  how  to  hate. 
She  only  knew  how  to  be  afraid. 

'  They  say  that  she  went  almost  insane  at  the 
sight  of  that  strong,  brave  man  of  hers  lying  still 
in  the  pine  needles.  She  had  n't  even  known  he  was 
out  of  the  house.  He  had  gone  out  on  some  secret 
business  —  late  at  night.  She  had  only  one  thing 
left  —  her  baby  boy  and  her  little  foster-daughter  — 
little  Linda  Ross  who  is  before  you  now.  Her  only 
thought  was  to  get  those  children  out  of  that  dread- 


78      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

ful  land  of  bloodshed  and  to  hide  them  so  that  they 
could  never  come  back.  And  she  did  n't  even  want 
them  to  know  their  true  parentage.  She  seemed  to 
realize  that  if  they  had  known,  both  of  them  would 
return  some  time  —  to  collect  their  debts.  Sooner 
or  later,  that  boy  with  the  Folger  blood  in  him  and 
that  girl  with  the  Ross  blood  would  return,  to  at- 
tempt to  regain  their  ancient  holdings,  and  to  make 
the  clan  pay! 

"  All  that  was  left  were  a  few  old  women  with 
hate  in  their  hearts  and  a  strange  tradition  to  take 
the  place  of  hope.  They  said  that  sometime,  if 
death  spared  them,  they  would  see  Folger's  son 
come  back  again,  and  assert  his  rights.  They  said 
that  a  new  champion  would  arise  and  right  their 
wrongs.  But  mostly  death  didn't  spare  them.  Only 
old  Elmira  is  left.  * 

"  What  became  of  the  secret  agreement  I  do  not 
know.  I  haven't  any  hope  that  you  do,  either. 
The  deed  was  carried  down  to  the  courts  by  Sharp, 
one  of  the  witnesses  who  managed  to  get  past  the 
guard,  and  put  on  file  soon  after  it  was  written. 
The  rest  is  short.  Simon  and  his  clan  took  up  the 
land,  swearing  that  Matthew  Folger  had  deeded  it 
to  them  the  day  he  had  procured  it.  They  had  a 
deed  to  show  for  it  —  a  forgery.  And  the  one 
thing  that  they  feared,  the  one  weak  chain,  was  that 
this  secret  agreement  between  Folger  and  my 
father  would  be  found. 

"  You  see  what  that  would  mean.  It  would  show 
that  he  had  no  right  to  deed  away  the  land,  as  he 
was  simply  holding  it  in  trust  for  me.  Old  Elmira 


The   Call  of  the   Blood         79 

explained  the  matter  to  me  —  if  I  get  mixed  up  on 
the  legal  end  of  it,  excuse  it.  If  that  document 
could  be  found,  their  forged  deed  would  be  obvi- 
ously invalid.  And  it  angered  them  that  they  could 
not  find  it. 

"  Of  course  they  never  filed  their  forged  deed  — 
afraid  that  the  forgery  would  be  discovered  —  but 
they  kept  it  to  show  to  any  one  that  was  interested. 
But  they  wanted  to  make  themselves  still  safer. 

"  There  had  been  two  witnesses  to  the  agreement. 
One  of  them,  a  man  named  Sharp,  died — or  was 
killed  —  shortly  after.  The  other,  an  old  trapper 
named  Hudson,  was  indifferent  to  the  whole  matter 
—  he  was  just  passing  through  and  was  at  Folger's 
house  for  dinner  the  night  Ross  came.  He  is  still 
living  in  these  mountains,  and  he  might  be  of  value 
to  us  yet. 

"Of  course  the  clan  did  not  feel  at  all  secure. 
They  suspected  the  secret  agreement  had  been 
mailed  to  some  one  to  take  care  of,  and  they  were 
afraid  that  it  would  be  brought  to  light  when  the 
time  was  ripe.  They  knew  perfectly  that  their 
forged  deed  would  never  stand  the  test,  so  one  of 
the  things  to  do  was  to  prevent  their  claim  ever 
being  contested.  That  meant  to  keep  Folger's  son 
in  ignorance  of  the  whole  matter. 

"  I  hope  I  can  make  that  clear.  The  deed  from 
my  father  to  Folger  was  on  record,  Folger  was  dead, 
and  Folger's  son  would  have  every  right  and  op- 
portunity to  contest  the  clan's  claim  to  the  land. 
If  he  could  get  the  matter  into  court,  he  would 
surely  win. 


8o      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

*  The  second  thing  to  do  was  to  win  me  over.  I 
was  just  a  child,  and  it  looked  the  easiest  course  of 
all.  That 's  why  I  was  stolen  from  the  orphanage 
by  one  of  Simon's  brothers.  The  idea  was  simply 
that  when  the  time  came  I  would  marry  one  of  the 
clan  and  establish  their  claim  to  the  land  forever. 

"  Up  to  a  few  weeks  ago  it  seemed  to  me  that 
sooner  or  later  I  would  win  out.  Bruce,  you  can't 
dream  what  it  meant !  I  thought  that  some  time  I 
could  drive  them  out  and  make  them  pay,  a  little, 
for  all  they  have  done.  But  they  've  tricked  me, 
after  all.  I  thought  that  I  would  get  word  to 
Folger's  son,  who  by  inheritance  would  have  a  clear 
title  to  the  land,  and  he,  with  the  aid  of  the  courts, 
could  drive  these  usurpers  out.  But  just  recently 
I  've  found  out  that  even  this  chance  is  all  but  gone. 
"  Within  a  few  more  weeks,  they  will  have  been 
in  possession  of  the  land  for  a  full  twenty  years. 
Through  some  legal  twist  I  don't  understand,  if  a 
man  pays  taxes  and  has  undisputed  possession  of 
land  for  that  length  of  time,  his  title  is  secure.  They 
failed  to  win  me  over,  but  it  looks  as  if  they  had  won, 
anyway.  The  only  way  that  they  can  be  defeated 
now  is  for  that  secret  agreement  —  between  my 
father  and  Folger  —  to  reappear.  And  I  've  long 
ago  given  up  all  hope  of  that. 

"  There  is  no  court  session  between  now  and  Oc- 
tober thirtieth  —  when  their  twenty  years  of  undis- 
puted possession  is  culminated.  There  seems  to  be 
no  chance  to  contest  them  —  to  make  them  bring 
that  forged  deed  into  the  light  before  that  time. 
We  've  lost,  after  all.  And  only  one  thing  remains." 


The   Call   of  the   Blood         8 1 

He  looked  up  to  find  her  eyes  full  upon  him.  He 
had  never  seen  such  eyes.  They  seemed  to  have 
sunk  so  deep  into  the  flesh  about  them  that  only 
lurid  slits  remained.  It  was  not  that  her  lids  were 
partly  down.  Rather  it  was  because  the  flesh-sacks 
beneath  them  had  become  charged  with  her  pound- 
ing blood.  The  fire's  glow  was  in  them  and  cast  a 
strange  glamour  upon  her  face.  It  only  added  to 
the  strangeness  of  the  picture  that  she  sat  almost 
limp,  rather  than  leaning  forward  in  appeal.  Bruce 
looked  at  her  in  growing  awe. 

But  as  the  second  passed  he  seemed  no  longer  able 
to  see  her  plainly.  His  eyes  were  misted  and 
blurred,  but  they  were  empty  of  tears  as  Linda's 
own.  Rather  the  focal  points  of  his  brain  had  be- 
come seared  by  a  mounting  flame  within  himself. 
The  glow  of  the  fire  had  seemingly  spread  until  it 
encompassed  the  whole  wilderness  world. 

"  What  is  the  one  thing  that  remains?  "  he  asked 
her,  whispering. 

She  answered  with  a  strange,  terrible  coldness  of 
tone.  "  The  blood  atonement,"  she  said  between 
back-drawn  lips. 


X 

WHEN  the  minute  hand  of  the  watch  in  his  pocket 
had  made  one  more  circuit,  both  Bruce  and  Linda 
found  themselves  upon  their  feet.  The  tension  had 
broken  at  last.  Her  emotion  had  been  curbed  too 
long.  It  broke  from  her  in  a  flood. 

She  seized  his  hands,  and  he  started  at  their  touch. 
"  Don't  you  understand?  "  she  cried.  "  You  —  you 
—  you  are  Folger's  son.  You  are  the  boy  that  crept 
out  —  under  this  very  tree  —  to  find  him  dead.  All 
my  life  Elmira  and  I  have  prayed  for  you  to  come. 
And  what  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

Her  face  was  drawn  in  the  white  light  of  the 
moon.  For  an  instant  he  seemed  dazed. 

"Do?  "  he  repeated.  "I  don't  know  what  I  'm 
going  to  do." 

"  You  don't!  "  she  cried,  in  infinite  scorn.  "  Are 
you  just  clay?  Are  n't  you  a  man?  Have  n't  you 
got  arms  to  strike  with  and  eyes  to  see  along  a  rifle 
barrel?  Are  you  a  coward  —  and  a  weakling;  one 
of  your  mother's  blood  to  run  away?  Have  n't  you 
anything  to  avenge?  I  thought  you  were  a  moun- 
tain man  —  that  all  your  years  in  cities  could  n't 
take  that  quality  away  from  you!  Haven't  you 
any  answer? " 

He  looked  up,  a  strange  light  growing  on  his 
face.  '  You  mean  —  killing?  " 

"  What  else?    To  kill  —  never  to  stop  killing  — 


The  Call  of  the  Blood         83 

one  after  another  until  they  are  gone !  Till  Simon 
Turner  and  the  whole  Turner  clan  have  paid  the 
debts  they  owe." 

Bruce  recoiled  as  if  from  a  blow.  '  Turner? 
Did  you  say  Turner? "  he  asked  hoarsely. 

"  Yes.  That 's  the  clan's  name.  I  thought  you 
knew." 

There  was  an  instant  of  strange  truce.  Both 
stood  motionless.  The  scene  no  longer  seemed  part 
of  the  world  that  men  have  come  to  know  in  these 
latter  years,  —  a  land  of  cities  and  homes  and  peace- 
ful twilights  over  quiet  countrysides.  The  moon 
was  still  strange  and  white  in  the  sky;  the  pines 
stood  tall  and  dark  and  sad,  —  eternal  emblems  of 
the  wilderness.  The  fire  had  burned  down  to  a  few 
lurid  coals  glowing  in  the  gray  ashes.  No  longer 
were  these  two  children  of  civilization.  Their  pas- 
sion had  swept  them  back  into  the  immeasurable 
past;  they  were  simply  human  beings  deep  in  the 
simplest  of  human  passions.  They  trembled  all 
over  with  it. 

Bruce  understood  now  his  unprovoked  attack  on 
the  little  boy  when  he  had  been  taken  from  the  or- 
phanage on  trial.  The  boy  had  been  named  Turner, 
and  the  name  had  been  enough  to  recall  a  great  and 
terrible  hatred  that  he  had  learned  in  earliest  baby- 
hood. The  name  now  recalled  it  again;  the  truth 
stood  clear  at  last.  It  was  the  key  to  all  the  mys- 
tery of  his  life ;  it  stirred  him  more  than  all  of  Linda's 
words.  In  an  instant  all  the  tragedy  of  his  baby- 
hood was  recalled, —  the  hushed  talk  between  his 
parents,  the  oaths,  the  flames  in  their  eyes,  and 


84      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

finally  the  body  he  had  found  lying  so  still  be- 
neath the  pines.  It  was  always  the  Turners,  the 
dread  name  that  had  filled  his  baby  days  with 
horror.  He  had  n't  understood  then.  It  had  been 
blind  hatred,  —  hatred  without  understanding  or 
self -analysis. 

As  she  watched,  his  mountain  blood  mounted  to 
the  ascendancy.  A  strange  transformation  came 
over  him.  The  gentleness  that  he  had  acquired  in 
his  years  of  city  life  began  to  fall  away  from  him. 
The  mountains  were  claiming  him  again. 

It  was  not  a  mental  change  alone.  It  was  a  thing 
to  be  seen  with  the  unaided  eyes.  His  hand  had 
swept  through  his  hair,  disturbing  the  part,  and 
now  the  black  locks  dropped  down  on  his  forehead, 
almost  to  his  eyes.  The  whole  expression  of  his 
face  seemed  to  change.  His  look  of  culture  dropped 
from  him ;  his  eyes  narrowed ;  he  looked  grotesquely 
out  of  place  in  his  soft,  well-tailored  clothes. 

But  he  was  quite  cold  now.  His  passion  was 
submerged  under  a  steel  exterior.  His  voice  was 
cold  and  hard  when  he  spoke. 

6  Then  you  and  I  are  no  relation  whatever?  " 

"  None." 

"  But  we  fight  the  same  fight  now." 

"  Yes.    Until  we  both  win  —  or  both  die." 

Before  he  could  speak  again,  a  strange  answer 
came  out  of  the  darkness.  "  Not  two  of  you,"  a 
croaking  old  voice  told  them.  It  rose,  shrill  and 
cracked,  from  the  shadows  beyond  the  fire.  They 
turned,  and  the  moonlight  showed  a  bent  old  figure 
hobbling  toward  them. 


The   Call  of  the   Blood          85 

It  was  old  Elmira,  her  cane  tapping  along  in  front 
of  her;  and  something  that  caught  the  moonlight 
lay  in  the  hollow  of  her  left  arm.  Her  eyes  still 
glowed  under  the  grizzled  brows. 

"  Not  two,  but  three,"  she  corrected,  in  the  hol- 
low voice  of  uncounted  years.  In  the  magic  of  the 
moonlight  it  seemed  quite  fitting  to  both  of  them 
that  she  should  have  come.  She  was  one  of  the 
triumvirate ;  they  wondered  why  they  had  not  missed 
her  before.  It  was  farther  than  she  had  walked  in 
years,  but  her  spirit  had  kept  her  up. 

She  put  the  glittering  object  that  she  carried  into 
Bruce's  hands.  It  was  a  rifle  —  a  repeating  breech- 
loader of  a  famous  make  and  a  model  of  thirty  years 
before.  It  was  such  a  rifle  as  lives  in  legend,  with 
sights  as  fine  as  a  razor  edge  and  an  accuracy  as 
great  as  light  itself.  Loving  hands  had  polished  it 
and  kept  it  in  perfect  condition. 

"  Matthew  Folger's  rifle,"  the  old  woman  ex- 
plained, "  for  Matthew  Folger's  son." 

And  that  is  how  Bruce  Folger  returned  to  the 
land  of  his  birth  —  as  most  men  do,  unless  death 
cheats  them  first  —  and  how  he  made  a  pact  to  pay 
old  debts  of  death. 


BOOK  TWO 

THE  BLOOD  ATONEMENT 
XI 

"  MEN  own  the  day,  but  the  night  is  ours,"  is  an 
old  saying  among  the  wild  folk  that  inhabit  the 
forests  of  Trail's  End.  And  the  saying  has  really 
deep  significances  that  can't  be  discerned  at  one 
hearing.  Perhaps  human  beings  —  their  thoughts 
busy  with  other  things  —  can  never  really  get  them 
at  all.  But  the  mountain  lion  —  purring  a  sort  of 
queer,  singsong  lullaby  to  her  wicked-eyed  little 
cubs  in  the  lair  —  and  the  gray  wolf,  running  along 
the  ridges  in  the  mystery  of  the  moon — and  those 
lesser  hunters,  starting  with  Tuft-ear  the  lynx  and 
going  all  the  way  down  to  that  terrible,  white- 
toothed  cutthroat,  Little  Death  the  mink  —  they 
know  exactly  what  the  saying  means,  and  they  know 
that  it  is  true.  The  only  one  of  the  larger  forest 
creatures  that  doesn't  know  is  old  Ashur,  the  black 
bear  (Ashur  means  black  in  an  ancient  tongue,  just 
as  Brunn  means  brown,  and  the  common  Oregon 
bear  is  usually  decidedly  black)  and  the  fact  that  he 
does  n't  is  curious  in  itself.  In  most  ways  Ashur 
has  more  intelligence  than  all  the  others  put  to- 
gether; but  he  is  also  the  most  indifferent.  He 
is  not  a  hunter;  and  he  does  n't  care  who  owns  any- 


88        The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

thing  as  long  as  there  are  plenty  of  bee  trees  to  mop 
out  with  his  clumsy  paw,  and  plenty  of  grubs  under 
the  rotten  logs. 

The  saying  originated  long  and  long  ago  when 
the  world  was  quite  young.  Before  that  time,  likely 
enough,  the  beasts  owned  both  the  day  and  the  night, 
and  you  can  imagine  them  denying  man's  superior- 
ity just  as  long  as  possible.  But  they  came  to  it  in 
the  end,  and  perhaps  now  they  are  beginning  to  be 
doubtful  whether  they  still  hold  dominion  over  the 
night  hours.  You  can  fancy  the  forest  people 
whispering  the  saying  back  and  forth,  using  it  as  a 
password  when  they  meet  on  the  trails,  and  trying 
their  best  to  believe  it.  "  Man  owns  the  day  but  the 
night  is  ours,"  the  coyotes  whisper  between  Sobs. 
In  a  world  where  men  have  slowly,  steadily  con- 
quered all  the  wild  creatures,  killed  them  and  driven 
them  away,  their  one  consolation  lies  in  the  fact 
that  when  the  dark  comes  down  their  old  preemi- 
nence returns  to  them. 

Of  course  the  saying  is  ridiculous  if  applied  to 
cities  or  perhaps  even  to  the  level,  cleared  lands  of 
the  Middle  West.  The  reason  is  simply  that  the 
wild  life  is  practically  gone  from  these  places.  Per- 
haps a  lowly  skunk  steals  along  a  hedge  on  the  way 
to  a  chicken  pen,  but  he  quivers  and  skulks  with 
fear,  and  all  the  arrogance  of  hunting  is  as  dead  in 
him  as  his  last  year's  perfume.  And  perhaps  even 
the  little  bobwhites,  nestling  tail  to  tail,  know  that 
it  is  wholly  possible  that  the  farmer's  son  has  marked 
their  roost  and  will  come  and  pot  them  while  they 
sleep.  But  a  few  places  remain  in  America  where 


The   Blood   Atonement  89 

the  reign  of  the  wild  creatures,  during  the  night 
hours  at  least,  is  still  supreme.  And  Trail's  End  is 
one  of  them. 

It  doesn't  lie  in  the  Middle  West.  It  is  just 
about  as  far  west  as  one  can  conveniently  go,  unless 
he  cares  to  trace  the  rivers  down  to  their  mouths. 
Neither  was  it  cleared  land,  nor  had  its  soil  ever 
been  turned  by  a  plow.  The  few  clearings  that 
there  were  —  such  as  the  great  five  sections  of  the 
Rosses  —  were  so  far  apart  that  a  wolf  could  run 
all  night  (and  the  night-running  of  a  wolf  is  some- 
thing not  to  speak  of  lightly)  without  passing  one. 
There  is  nothing  but  forest,  —  forest  that  stretches 
without  boundaries,  forest  to  which  a  great  moun- 
tain is  but  a  single  flower  in  a  meadow,  forest  to 
make  the  brain  of  a  timber  cruiser  reel  and  stagger 
from  sheer  higher  mathematics.  Perhaps  man  owns 
these  timber  stretches  in  the  daytime.  He  can  go 
out  and  cut  down  the  trees,  and  when  they  don't 
choose  to  fall  over  on  top  of  him,  return  safely  to 
his  cabin  at  night.  He  can  venture  forth  with  his 
rifle  and  kill  Ashur  the  black  bear  and  Blacktail 
the  deer,  and  even  old  Brother  Bill,  the  grand  and 
exalted  ruler  of  the  elk  lodge.  The  sound  of  his 
feet  disturbs  the  cathedral  silence  of  the  tree  aisles, 
and  his  oaths  —  when  the  treacherous  trail  gives 
way  beneath  his  feet  —  carry  far  through  the  cov- 
erts. But  he  behaves  somewhat  differently  at  night. 
He  does  n't  feel  nearly  so  sure  of  himself.  The 
sound  of  a  puma  screaming  a  few  dozen  feet  away 
in  the  shadows  is  likely  enough  to  cause  an  un- 
pleasant twitching  of  the  skin  of  his  back.  And 


go       The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

he  feels  considerably  better  if  there  are  four  stout 
walls  about  him.  At  nighttime,  the  wild  creatures 
come  into  their  own. 

Bruce  sensed  these  things  as  he  waited  for  the  day 
to  break.  For  all  the  hard  exertion  of  the  previous 
day,  he  wakened  early  on  the  first  morning  of  his 
return  to  his  father's  home.  Through  the  open  win- 
dow he  watched  the  dawn  come  out.  And  he  fan- 
cied how  a  puma,  still  hungry,  turned  to  snarl  at  the 
spreading  light  as  he  crept  to  his  lair. 

All  over  the  forest  the  hunting  creatures  left 
their  trails  and  crept  into  the  coverts.  Their  reign 
was  done  until  darkness  fell  again.  The  night  life 
of  the  forest  was  slowly  stilled.  The  daylight  crea- 
tures —  such  as  the  birds  — began  to  waken.  Prob- 
ably they  welcomed  the  sight  of  day  as  much  as 
Bruce  himself.  The  man  dressed  slowly.  He 
wouldn't  waken  the  two  women  that  slept  in  the 
next  room,  he  thought.  He  crept  slowly  out  into 
the  gray  dawn. 

He  made  straight  for  the  great  pine  that  stood  a 
short  distance  from  the  house.  For  reasons  un- 
known to  him,  the  pine  had  come  often  into  his 
dreams.  He  had  thought  that  its  limbs  rubbed  to- 
gether and  made  words,  —  but  of  the  words  them- 
selves he  had  hardly  caught  the  meaning.  There 
was  some  high  message  in  them,  however;  and  the 
dream  had  left  him  with  a  vague  curiosity,  an  un- 
explainable  desire  to  see  the  forest  monarch  in  the 
daylight. 

As  he  waited,  the  mist  blew  off  of  the  land;  the 
gray  of  twilight  was  whisked  away  to  a  twilight- 


The   Blood   Atonement  91 

land  that  is  hidden  in  the  heart  of  the  forest.  He 
found  to  his  delight  that  the  tree  was  even  more 
impressive  in  the  vivid  morning  light  than  it  had 
been  at  night.  It  was  not  that  the  light  actually  got 
into  it.  Its  branches  were  too  thick  and  heavy  for 
that.  It  still  retained  its  air  of  eternal  secrecy,  an 
impression  that  it  knew  great  mysteries  that  a 
thousand  philosophers  would  give  their  lives  to 
learn.  He  was  constantly  awed  by  the  size  of  it. 
He  guessed  its  circumference  as  about  twenty-five 
feet.  The  great  lower  limbs  were  themselves  like 
massive  tree  trunks.  Its  top  surpassed  by  fifty  feet 
any  pine  in  the  vicinity. 

As  he  watched,  the  sun  came  up,  gleaming  first 
on  its  tall  spire.  It  slowly  overtook  it.  The  dusk 
of  its  green  lightened.  Bruce  was  not  a  particularly 
imaginative  man ;  but  the  impression  grew  that  this 
towering  tree  had  an  answer  for  some  great  ques- 
tion in  his  own  heart,  —  a  question  that  he  had 
never  been  able  to  shape  into  words.  He  felt  that 
it  knew  the  wholly  profound  secret  of  life. 

After  all,  it  could  not  but  have  such  knowledge. 
It  was  so  incredibly  old;  it  had  seen  so  much. 
His  mind  flew  back  to  some  of  the  dramas  of  human 
life  that  had  been  enacted  in  its  shade,  and  his 
imagination  could  picture  many  more.  His  own 
father  had  lain  here  dead,  shot  down  by  a  murderer 
concealed  in  the  distant  thicket.  It  had  beheld  his 
own  wonder  when  he  had  found  the  still  form  lying 
in  the  moonlight ;  it  had  seen  his  mother's  grief  and 
terror.  Wilderness  dramas  uncounted  had  been 
enacted  beneath  it.  Many  times  the  mountain  lion 


92        The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

had  crept  into  its  dark  branches.  Many  times  the 
bear  had  grunted  beneath  it  and  reached  up  to 
write  a  challenge  with  his  claws  in  its  bark.  The 
eyes  of  Tuft-ear  the  lynx  had  gleamed  from  its 
very  top,  and  the  old  bull-elk  had  filed  off  his  velvet 
on  the  sharp  edges  of  the  bark.  It  had  seen  savage 
battles  between  the  denizens  of  the  wood ;  the  deer 
racing  by  with  the  wolf  pack  in  pursuit.  For  un- 
counted years  it  had  stood  aloft,  above  all  the  mad- 
ness and  bloodshed  and  passion  that  are  the  eternal 
qualities  of  the  wilderness,  somber,  stately,  unut- 
terably aloof. 

It  had  known  the  snows.  When  the  leaves  fell 
and  the  wind  came  out  of  the  north,  it  would  know 
them  again.  For  the  snow  falls  for  a  depth  of  ten 
feet  or  more  over  most  of  Trail's  End.  For  innu- 
merable winters  its  limbs  had  been  heaped  with  the 
white  load,  the  great  branches  bending  beneath  it. 
The  wind  made  faint  sounds  through  its  branches 
now,  but  would  be  wholly  silent  when  the  winter 
snows  weighted  the  limbs.  He  could  picture  the 
great,  white  giant,  silent  as  death,  still  keeping  its 
vigil  over  the  snow-swept  wilderness. 

Bruce  felt  a  growing  awe.  The  great  tree  seemed 
so  wise,  it  gave  him  such  a  sense  of  power.  The 
winds  had  buffeted  it  in  vain.  It  had  endured  the 
terrible  cold  of  winter.  Generation  after  genera- 
tion of  the  creatures  who  moved  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  had  lived  their  lives  beneath  it;  they  had 
struggled  and  mated  and  fought  their  battles  and 
felt  their  passions,  and  finally  they  had  died ;  and 
still  it  endured,  —  silent,  passionless,  full  of 


The   Blood  Atonement          93 

thoughts.  Here  was  real  greatness.  Not  stirring,, 
not  struggling,  not  striving ;  only  standing  firm  and 
straight  and  impassive;  not  taking  part,  but  only 
watching,  knowing  no  passion  but  only  strength,  — 
ineffably  patient  and  calm. 

But  it  was  sad  too.  Such  knowledge  always 
brings  sadness.  It  had  seen  too  much  to  be  other- 
wise. The  pines  are  never  cheerful  trees,  like  the 
apple  that  blossoms  in  spring,  or  the  elm  whose 
leaves  shimmer  in  the  sunlight ;  and  this  great  mon- 
arch of  all  the  pines  was  sad  as  great  music.  In 
this  quality,  as  well  as  in  its  strength,  it  was  the 
symbol  of  the  wilderness  itself.  But  it  was  more 
than  that.  It  was  the  Great  Sentinel,  and  in  its 
unutterable  impassiveness  it  was  the  emblem  and 
symbol  of  even  mightier  powers.  Bruce's  full  wis- 
dom had  not  yet  come  to  him,  so  he  could  n't  name 
these  powers.  He  only  knew  that  they  lived  far 
and  far  above  the  world  and,  like  the  tree  itself, 
held  aloof  from  all  the  passion  of  Eve  and  the 
bloodlust  of  Cain.  Like  the  pine  itself,  they  were 
patient,  impassive,  and  infinitely  wise. 

He  felt  stilled  and  calmed  himself.  Such  was  its 
influence.  And  he  turned  with  a  start  when  he  saw 
Linda  in  the  doorway. 

Her  face  was  calm  too  in  the  morning  light.  Her 
dark  eyes  were  lighted.  He  felt  a  curious  little 
glow  of  delight  at  the  sight  of  her. 

"  I  Ve  been  talking  to  the  pine  —  all  the  morn- 
ing," he  told  her. 

"  But  it  won't  talk  to  you,"  she  answered.  "  It 
talks  only  to  the  stars." 


XII 

BRUCE  and  Linda  had  a  long  talk  while  the  sun 
climbed  up  over  the  great  ridges  to  the  east  and 
old  Elmira  cooked  their  breakfast.  There  was  no 
passion  in  their  words  this  morning.  They  had  got 
down  to  a  basis  of  cold  planning. 

"  Let  me  refresh  my  memory  about  a  few  of  those 
little  things  you  told  me,"  Bruce  requested.     "  First 
—  on  what  date  does  the  twenty-year  period  —  of 
Turners'  possession  of  the  land  —  expire? " 

"  On  the  thirtieth  of  October,  of  this  year." 

"  Not  very  long,  is  it?  Now  you  understand  that 
on  that  date  they  will  have  had  twenty  years  of  un- 
disputed possession  of  the  land;  they  will  have  paid 
taxes  on  it  that  long ;  and  unless  their  title  is  proven 
false  between  now  and  that  date,  we  can't  ever  drive 
them  out." 

"  That 's  just  right." 

"  And  the  fall  term  of  court  does  n't  begin  until 
the  fifth  of  the  following  month." 

1  Yes,  we  're  beaten.     That 's  all  there  is  to  it. 
Simon  told  me  so  the  last  time  he  talked  to  me." 

"  It  would  be  to  his  interest  to  have  you  think  so. 
But  Linda  —  we  must  n't  give  up  yet.  We  must 
try  as  long  as  one  day  remains.  The  law  is  full  of 
twists ;  we  might  find  a  way  to  checkmate  them,  es- 
pecially if  that  secret  agreement  should  show  up. 


The   Blood   Atonement  95 

It  is  n't  just  enough  —  to  have  vengeance.  That 
would  n't  put  the  estate  back  in  your  hands ;  they 
would  have  won,  after  all.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
first  thing  to  do  is  to  find  the  trapper,  Hudson  — 
the  one  witness  that  is  still  alive.  You  say  he  wit- 
nessed that  secret  agreement  between  your  father 
and  mine." 

it    "\7-  5> 

i  es. 

"  His  testimony  would  be  invaluable  to  us.  He 
might  be  able  to  prove  to  the  court  that  as  my  father 
never  owned  the  land  in  reality,  he  could  n't  possibly 
have  deeded  it  to  the  Turners.  Do  you  know  where 
this  Hudson  is?" 

"  I  asked  old  Elmira  last  night.  She  thinks  she 
knows.  A  man  told  her  he  had  his  trap  line  on  the 
upper  Umpqua,  and  his  main  headquarters  —  you 
know  that  trappers  have  a  string  of  camps  —  was 
at  the  mouth  of  Little  River,  that  flows  into  the 
Umpqua.  But  it  is  a  long  way  from  here." 

Bruce  was  still  a  moment.  "  How  far?  "  he 
asked. 

'  Two  full  days'  tramp  at  the  least  —  barring  out 
accidents.  But  if  you  think  it  is  best  —  you  can 
start  out  to-day." 

Bruce  was  a  man  who  made  decisions  quickly. 
He  had  learned  the  wisdom  of  it,  —  that  after  all  the 
evidence  is  gathered  on  each  side,  a  single  second  is 
all  the  time  that  is  needed  for  any  kind  of  decision. 
Beyond  that  point  there  is  only  vacillation.  '  Then 
I  '11  start  —  right  away.  Can  you  tell  me  how  to 
find  the  trail?  " 

"  I  can  only  tell  you  to  go  straight  north.     Use 


96        The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

your  watch  as  a  compass  in  the  daytime  and  the 
North  Star  at  night." 

"  I  did  n't  suppose  that  it  was  wisdom  to  travel 
at  night." 

She  looked  at  him  in  sudden  astonishment.  "  And 
where  did  you  learn  that  fact,  Bruce?  " 

The  man  tried  hard  to  remember.  "  I  don't  know. 
I  suppose  it  was  something  I  heard  when  I  was  a 
baby  —  in  these  mountains." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  first  things  a  mountaineer  has 
to  know  —  to  make  camp  at  nightfall.  You  would 
want  to,  anyway,  Bruce.  You  Ve  got  enough  real 
knowledge  of  the  wilderness  in  you  —  born  in  you 

—  to  want  a  camp  and  a  fire  at  night.    Besides,  the 
trails  are  treacherous." 

"  Then  the  thing  to  do  is  to  get  ready  at  once. 
And  then  try  to  bring  Hudson  back  with  me  — 
down  to  the  valley.  After  we  get  there  we  can  see 
what  can  be  done." 

Linda  smiled  rather  sadly.  "  I  'm  not  very  hope- 
ful. But  he  's  our  last  chance  —  and  we  might  as 
well  make  a  try.  There  is  no  hope  that  the  secret 
agreement  will  show  up  in  these  few  weeks  that 
remain.  We  '11  get  your  things  together  at  once." 

They  breakfasted,  and  after  the  simple  meal  was 
finished,  Bruce  began  to  pack  for  the  journey.  He 
was  very  thankful  for  the  months  he  had  spent  in 
an  army  camp.  He  took  a  few  simple  supplies  of 
food :  a  piece  of  bacon,  a  little  sack  of  dried  venison 

—  that  delicious  fare  that  has  held  so  many  men 
up  on  long  journeys  —  and  a  compact  little  sack  of 
prepared  flour.    There  was  no  space  for  delicacies 


The   Blood   Atonement          97 

in  the  little  pack.  Besides,  a  man  forgets  about  such 
things  on  the  high  trails.  Butter,  sugar,  even  that 
ancient  friend  coffee  had  to  be  left  behind.  He  took 
one  little  utensil  for  cooking  —  a  small  skillet  — 
and  Linda  furnished  him  with  a  camp  ax  and  a 
long-bladed  hunting  knife.  These  things  (with  the 
^exception  of  the  knife  and  ax)  he  tied  up  in  one 
heavy,  all-wool  blanket,  making  a  compact  pack  for 
carrying  on  his  back. 

In  his  pocket  he  carried  cartridges  for  the  rifle, 
pipe,  tobacco,  and  matches.  Linda  took  the  hob- 
nails out  of  her  own  shoes  and  pounded  them  into 
his.  For  there  are  certain  trails  in  Trail's  End  that 
to  the  unnailed  shoe  are  quite  like  the  treadmills  of 
ancient  days;  the  foot  slips  back  after  every 
step. 

One  thing  more  was  needed :  tough  leggings.  The 
soft  flannel  trousers  had  not  been  tailored  for  wear 
in  the  brush  coverts.  And  there  is  still  another 
reason  why  the  mountain  men  want  their  ankles 
covered.  In  portions  of  Trail's  End  there  are 
certain  rock  ledges  —  gray,  strange  stone  heaps 
blasted  by  the  summer  sun  —  and  some  of  the  paths 
that  Bruce  would  take  crossed  over  them.  These 
ledges  are  the  home  of  a  certain  breed  of  forest 
creatures  that  Bruce  did  not  in  the  least  desire  to 
meet.  Unlike  many  of  the  wild  folk,  they  are  not 
at  all  particular  about  getting  out  of  the  way,  and 
they  are  more  than  likely  to  lash  up  at  a  traveler's 
instep.  It  is  n't  wise  to  try  to  jump  out  of  the  way. 
If  a  man  were  practiced  at  dodging  lightning  bolts 
he  might  do  it,  but  not  an  ordinary  mortal.  For 


98      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

that  lunging  head  is  one  of  the  swiftest  things  in 
the  whole  swift-moving  animal  world.  And  it  is  n't 
entirely  safe  to  rely  on  a  warning  rattle.  Sometimes 
the  old  king-snake  forgets  to  give  it.  These  are  the 
poison  people  —  the  gray  rattlesnakes  that  gather 
in  mysterious,  grim  companies  on  the  rocks  —  and 
the  only  safety  from  them  is  thick  covering  to  the 
knees  that  the  fangs  cannot  penetrate. 

But  the  old  woman  solved  this  problem  with  a 
deer  hide  that  had  been  curing  for  some  seasons  on 
the  wall  behind  the  house.  Her  eyes  were  dimmed 
with  age,  her  fingers  were  stiff,  but  in  an  astonish- 
ingly short  period  of  time  she  improvised  a  pair  of 
leathern  puttees,  fastening  with  a  strap,  that  an- 
swered the  purpose  beautifully.  The  two  women 
walked  with  him,  out  under  the  pine. 

Bruce  shook  old  Elmira's  scrawny  hand;  then 
she  turned  back  at  once  into  the  house.  The  man 
felt  singularly  grateful.  He  began  to  credit  the 
old  woman  with  a  great  deal  of  intuition,  or  else 
memories  from  her  own  girlhood  of  long  and  long 
ago.  He  did  want  a  word  alone  with  this  strange 
girl  of  the  pines.  But  when  Elmira  had  gone  in 
and  the  coast  was  clear,  it  would  n't  come  to  his  lips. 

He  felt  curious  conjecturings  and  wonderment 
arising  within  him.  He  could  n't  have  shaped  them 
into  words.  It  was  just  that  the  girl's  face  intrigued 
him,  mystified  him,  and  perhaps  moved  him  a  little 
too.  It  was  a  frank,  clear,  girlish  face,  wonderfully 
tender  of  feature,  and  at  first  her  eyes  held  him  most 
of  all.  They  gave  an  impression  of  astounding 
depth.  They  were  quite  serious  now;  and  they  had 


The   Blood   Atonement          99 

a  luster  such  as  can  be  seen  on  cold  spring  water 
over  dark  moss,  —  and  few  other  places  on  earth. 

"  It  seems  strange,"  he  said,  "  to  come  here  only 
last  night  —  and  then  to  be  leaving  again." 

It  seemed  to  his  astonished  gaze  that  her  lips 
trembled  ever  so  slightly.  '  We  have  been  waiting 
f<5r  each  other  a  long  time,  Bwovaboo,"  she  replied. 
She  spoke  rather  low,  not  looking  straight  at  him. 
"  And  I  hate  to  have  you  go  again  so  soon." 

"  But  I  '11  be  back  —  in  a  few  days." 

"  You  don't  know.  No  one  ever  knows  when 
they  start  out  in  these  mountains.  Promise  me, 
Bruce  —  to  keep  watch  every  minute.  Remember 
there  's  nothing  —  nothing  —  that  Simon  won't 
stoop  to  do.  He  's  like  a  wolf.  He  has  no  rules  of 
fighting.  He  'd  just  as  soon  strike  from  ambush. 
How  do  I  know  that  you  '11  ever  come  back  again?  " 

"  But  I  will."  He  smiled  at  her,  and  his  eyes 
dropped  from  hers  to  her  lips.  His  heart  seemed  to 
miss  a  beat.  He  had  n't  noticed  these  lips  in  par- 
ticular before.  The  mouth  was  tender  and  girlish, 
its  sensitiveness  scarcely  seeming  fitting  in  a  child 
of  these  wild  places.  He  reached  out  and  took  her 
hand. 

"  Good-by,  Linda,"  he  said,  smiling. 

She  smiled  in  reply,  and  her  old  cheer  seemed  to 
return  to  her.  "  Good-by,  Bwovaboo.  Be  careful." 

"  I  '11  be  careful.  And  this  reminds  me  of  some- 
thing." 

"What?" 

'  That  for  all  the  time  I  Ve  been  away  —  and  for 
all  the  time  I  'm  going  to  be  away  now  —  I  have  n't 


ioo      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

done  anything  more  —  well,  more  intimate  —  than 
shake  your  hand." 

Her  answer  was  to  pout  out  her  lips  in  the  most 
natural  way  in  the  world.  Bruce  was  usually  de- 
liberate in  his  motions ;  but  all  at  once  his  delibera- 
tion fell  away  from  him.  There  seemed  to  be  no  in- 
terlude of  time  between  one  position  and  another. 
His  arms  went  about  her,  and  he  kissed  her  gently 
on  the  lips. 

But  it  was  not  at  all  as  they  expected.  Both  had 
gone  into  it  lightly,  —  a  boy-and-girl  caress  such  as 
is  usually  not  worth  thinking  about  twice,  fie  had 
supposed  it  would  be  just  like  the  other  kisses  he 
had  known  in  his  growing-up  days:  a  moment's 
soft  pressure  of  the  lips,  a  moment's  delight,  and 
nothing  either  to  regret  or  rejoice  in.  But  it  was 
far  more  than  this,  after  all.  Perhaps  because  they 
had  been  too  long  in  one  another's  thoughts;  per- 
haps—  living  in  a  land  of  hated  foes  —  because 
Linda  had  not  known  many  kisses,  this  little  caress 
beneath  the  pine  went  very  straight  home  indeed  to 
them  both.  They  fell  apart,  both  of  them  suddenly 
sobered.  The  girl's  eyes  were  tender  and  lustrous, 
but  startled  too. 

"  Good-by,  Linda,"  he  told  her. 

"  Good-by  —  Bwovaboo,"  she  answered.  He 
turned  up  the  trail  past  the  pine. 

He  did  not  know  that  she  stood  watching  him  a 
long  time,  her  hands  clasped  over  her  breast. 


XIII 

f 

MILES  farther  than  Linda's  cabin,  clear  beyond 
the  end  of  the  trail  that  Duncan  took,  past  even  the 
highest  ridge  of  Trail's  End  and  in  the  region  where 
the  little  rivers  that  run  into  the  Umpqua  have  their 
starting  place,  is  a  certain  land  of  Used  to  Be.  Such 
a  name  as  that  does  n't  make  very  good  sense  to  a 
tenderfoot  on  the  first  hearing.  Perhaps  he  can 
never  see  the  real  intelligence  of  it  as  long  as  he 
remains  a  tenderfoot.  Such  creatures  cannot  exist 
for  long  in  the  silences  and  the  endless  ridges  and 
the  unbeaten  trails  of  this  land ;  they  either  become 
woodsmen  or  have  communication  with  the  buz- 
zards. 

It  is  n't  a  land  of  the  Present  Time  at  all.  It  is  a 
place  that  has  never  grown  old.  When  a  man 
passes  the  last  outpost  of  civilization,  and  the 
shadows  of  the  unbroken  woods  drop  over  him,  he 
is  likely  to  forget  that  the  year  is  nineteen  hundred 
and  twenty,  and  that  the  day  before  yesterday  he 
had  seen  an  aeroplane  passing  over  his  house.  It  is 
true  that  in  this  place  he  sees  winged  creatures  in 
the  air,  seeming  masters  of  the  aerial  tracts,  but  they 
are  not  aeroplanes.  Instead  they  are  the  buzzards, 
and  they  are  keeping  even  a  closer  watch  on  him 
than  he  is  on  them.  They  know  that  many  things 
may  happen  whereby  they  can  get  acquainted  be- 


102     'The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

fore  the  morning  breaks.  The  world  seems  to  have 
kicked  off  its  thousand-thousand  years  as  a  warm 
man  at  night  kicks  off  covers;  and  all  things  are 
just  as  they  used  to  be.  It  is  the  Young  World,  - 
a  world  of  beasts  rather  than  men,  a  world  where 
the  hand  of  man  has  not  yet  been  felt. 

Of  course  it  won't  be  that  way  forever.  Some- 
time the  forests  will  fall.  What  will  become  of  the 
beasts  that  live  in  them  there  is  no  telling;  there 
are  not  many  places  left  for  them  to  go.  But  at 
present  it  is  just  as  savage,  just  as  primitive  and 
untamed  as  those  ancient  forests  of  the  Young 
World  that  a  man  recalls  sometimes  in  dreams. 

On  this  particular  early- September  day,  the  age- 
old  drama  of  the  wilderness  was  in  progress.  It  was 
the  same  play  that  had  been  enacted  day  after  day, 
year  upon  year,  until  the  centuries  had  become  too 
many  to  count,  and  as  usual,  there  were  no  human 
observers.  There  were  no  hunters  armed  with  rifles 
waiting  on  the  deer  trails  to  kill  some  of  the  players. 
There  were  no  naturalists  taking  notes  that  no  one 
will  believe  in  the  coverts.  It  was  the  usual  matinee 
performance;  the  long,  hot  day  was  almost  at  a 
close.  The  play  would  get  better  later  in  the  eve- 
ning, and  really  would  not  be  at  its  best  until  the 
moon  rose;  but  it  was  not  a  comedy-drama  even 
now.  Rather  it  was  a  drama  of  untamed  passions 
and  bloodshed,  strife  and  carnage  and  lust  and  rap- 
ine ;  and  it  did  n't,  unfortunately,  have  a  particularly 
happy  ending.  Mother  Nature  herself,  sometimes 
kind  but  usually  cruel,  was  the  producer;  she  fur- 
nished the  theater,  even  the  spotted  costume  by  which 


The   Blood  Atonement        103 

the  fawn  remained  invisible  in  the  patches  of  light 
and  shadow ;  and  she  had  certain  great  purposes  of 
her  own  that  no  man  understands.  As  the  play  was 
usually  complicated  with  many  fatalities,  the  buz- 
zards were  about  the  only  ones  to  benefit.  They 
were  the  real  heroes  of  the  play  after  all.  Every- 
thing always  turned  out  all  right  for  them.  They 
always  triumphed  in  the  end. 

The  greatest  difference  between  this  wilderness 
drama  and  the  dramas  that  human  beings  see  upon 
a  stage  is  that  one  was  reality  and  the  other  is  pre- 
tense. The  players  were  beasts,  not  men.  The 
only  human  being  anywhere  in  the  near  vicinity  was 
the  old  trapper,  Hudson,  following  down  his  trap 
line  on  the  creek  margin  on  the  way  to  his  camp. 
It  is  true  that  two  other  men,  with  a  rather  astound- 
ing similarity  of  purpose,  were  at  present  coming 
down  two  of  the  long  trails  that  led  to  the  region; 
but  as  yet  the  drama  was  hidden  from  their  eyes. 
One  of  these  two  was  Bruce,  coming  from  Linda's 
cabin.  One  was  Dave  Turner,  approaching  from 
the  direction  of  the  Ross  estates.  Turner  was  much 
the  nearer.  Curiously,  both  had  business  with  the 
trapper  Hudson. 

The  action  of  the  play  was  calm  at  first.  Mostly 
the  forest  creatures  were  still  in  their  afternoon 
sleep.  Brother  Bill,  the  great  stag  elk,  had  a  bed 
in  the  very  center  of  a  thick  wall  of  buckbush,  and 
human  observers  at  first  could  not  have  explained 
how  his  great  body,  with  his  vast  spread  of  antlers, 
had  been  able  to  push  through.  But  in  reality  his 
antlers  aided  rather  than  hindered.  Streaming  al- 


104      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

most  straight  back  they  act  something  like  a  snow- 
plow,  parting  the  heavy  coverts. 

The  bull  elk  is  in  some  ways  the  master  of  the 
forest,  and  one  would  wonder  why  he  had  gone  to 
such  an  out-of-the-way  place  to  sleep.  Unless  he 
is  attacked  from  ambush,  he  has  little  to  fear  even 
from  the  Tawny  One,  the  great  cougar,  and  ordi- 
narily the  cougar  waits  until  night  to  do  his  hunting. 
The  lynx  is  just  a  source  of  scorn  to  the  great  bull, 
and  even  the  timber  wolf  —  except  when  he  is  com- 
bined with  his  relatives  in  winter  —  is  scarcely  to  be 
feared.  Yet  he  had  been  careful  to  surround  him- 
self with  burglar  alarms,  —  in  other  words,  to  go 
into  the  deep  thicket  that  no  beast  of  prey  could 
penetrate  without  warning  him  —  by  the  sound  of 
breaking  brush  —  of  its  approach.  It  would  indi- 
cate that  there  was  at  least  one  living  creature  in 
this  region  —  a  place  where  men  ordinarily  did  not 
come  —  that  the  bull  elk  feared. 

The  does  and  their  little  spotted  fawns  were  sleep- 
ing too;  the  blacktail  deer  had  not  yet  sought  the 
feeding  grounds  on  the  ridges.  The  cougar  yawned 
in  his  lair,  the  wolf  dozed  in  his  covert,  even  the 
poison-people  lay  like  long  shadows  on  the  hot 
rocks.  But  these  latter  could  n't  be  relied  upon  to 
sleep  soundly.  One  of  the  many  things  they  can  do 
is  to  jump  straight  out  of  a  dream  like  a  flicking 
whiplash,  coil  and  hit  a  mark  that  many  a  good  pis- 
tol shot  would  miss. 

Yet  there  was  no  chance  of  the  buzzards,  at  pres- 
ent spectators  in  the  clouds  and  waiting  for  the  final 
act,  to  become  bored.  Particularly  the  lesser  ani- 


The   Blood  Atonement        105 

mals  of  the  forest  —  the  Little  People  —  were  busy 
at  their  occupations.  A  little  brown-coated  pine 
marten  —  who  is  really  nothing  but  an  overgrown 
weasel  famous  for  his  particularly  handsome  coat 
—  went  stealing  through  the  branches  of  a  pine  as 
if  he  had  rather  questionable  business.  Some  one 
had  told  him,  and  he  could  n't  remember  who,  that 
a  magpie  had  her  nest  in  that  same  tree,  and  Red 
Eye  was  going  to  look  and  see.  Of  course  he  merely 
wanted  to  satisfy  his  curiosity.  Perhaps  he  would 
try  to  arrange  to  get  a  little  sip  of  the  mother's 
blood,  just  as  it  passed  through  the  big  vein  of  the 
throat,  —  but  of  course  that  was  only  incidental. 
He  felt  some  curiosity  about  the  magpie's  eggs  too, 
the  last  brood  of  the  year.  It  might  be  that  there 
were  some  little  magpies  all  coiled  up  inside  of  them, 
that  would  be  worth  investigation  by  one  of  his 
scientific  turn  of  mind.  Perhaps  even  the  male  bird, 
coming  frantically  to  look  for  his  wife,  might  fly 
straight  into  the  nest  without  noticing  his  brown 
body  curled  about  the  limb.  It  offered  all  kinds 
of  pleasing  prospects,  this  hunt  through  the 
branches. 

Of  course  it  is  doubtful  if  the  buzzards  could  de- 
tect his  serpent-like  form;  yet  it  is  a  brave  man  who 
will  say  what  a  buzzard  can  and  cannot  see.  Any- 
thing that  can  remain  in  the  air  as  they  do,  seem- 
ingly without  the  flutter  of  a  wing,  has  powers  not 
to  speak  of  lightly.  But  if  they  could  have  seen  him 
they  would  have  been  particularly  interested.  A 
marten  is  n't  a  glutton  in  his  feeding,  and  often  is 
content  with  just  a  sip  of  blood  from  the  throat. 


io6      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

That  leaves  something  warm  and  still  for  the  buz- 
zard's beak. 

A  long,  spotted  gopher  snake  slipped  through  the 
dead  grass  on  the  ground  beneath.  He  did  n't  seem 
to  be  going  anywhere  in  particular.  He  was  just 
moseying  —  if  there  is  such  a  word  —  along.  Not 
a  blade  of  grass  rustled.  Of  course  there  was  a  chip- 
munk, sitting  at  the  door  of  his  house  in  the  uplifted 
roots  of  a  tree ;  but  the  snake  —  although  he  was 
approaching  in  his  general  direction  —  did  n't  seem 
at  all  interested  in  him.  Were  it  not  for  two  things, 
the  serpent  would  have  seemed  to  be  utterly  bored 
and  indifferent  to  life  in  general.  One  of  these 
things  was  its  cold,  glittering,  reptile  eyes.  The 
other  was  its  darting,  forked  tongue. 

It  may  be,  after  all,  that  this  little  tongue  was  of 
really  great  importance  in  the  serpent's  hunting. 
Many  naturalists  think  that  quite  often  the  little, 
rattle-brained  birds  and  rodents  that  it  hunts  are 
so  interested  in  this  darting  tongue  that  they  quite 
fail  to  see  the  slow  approach  of  the  mottled  body  of 
the  snake  behind  it.  At  least  it  was  perfectly  evi- 
dent that  the  chipmunk  did  not  see  Limber-spine  at 
present.  Otherwise  he  would  n't  have  been  enjoy- 
ing the  scenery  with  quite  the  same  complacency. 
If  all  went  well,  there  might  be  a  considerable  lump 
in  the  snake's  throat  yet  this  afternoon.  But  it 
would  be  a  quite  different  kind  of  lump  from  the 
one  the  chipmunk's  little  mate,  waiting  in  vain  for 
her  lord  to  come  to  supper,  would  have  in  Tier  throat. 

An  old  raccoon  wakened  from  his  place  on  a 
high  limb,  stretched  himself,  scratched  at  his  fur, 


The   Blood  Atonement        107 

then  began  to  steal  down  the  limb.  He  had  a  long 
way  to  go  before  dark.  Hunting  was  getting  poor 
in  this  part  of  the  woods.  He  believed  he  would 
wander  down  toward  Hudson's  camp  and  look  for 
crayfish  in  the  water.  A  coyote  is  usually  listed 
among  the  larger  forest  creatures,  but  early  though 
the  hour  was  —  early,  that  is,  for  hunters  to  be  out 
-  he  was  stalking  a  fawn  in  a  covert.  The  coyote 
has  not  an  especially  high  place  among  the  forest 
creatures,  and  he  has  to  do  his  hunting  early  and 
late  and  any  time  that  offers.  Most  of  the  larger 
creatures  pick  on  him,  all  the  time  detesting  him  for 
his  cunning.  The  timber  wolf,  a  rather  close  rela- 
tion whom  he  cordially  hates,  is  apt  to  take  bites 
out  of  him  if  he  meets  him  on  the  trail.  The  old 
bull  elk  would  like  nothing  better  than  to  cut  his 
hide  into  rag  patches  with  the  sharp-edged  front 
hoofs.  Even  the  magpies  in  the  tree  tops  made  up 
ribald  verses  about  him.  But  nevertheless  the  spot- 
ted fawn  had  cause  to  fear  him.  The  coyote  is  an 
infamous  coward;  but  even  the  little  cotton  tail 
rabbit  does  not  have  to  fear  a  fawn. 

All  these  hunts  were  progressing  famously  when 
there  came  a  curious  interruption.  It  was  just  a 
sound  at  first.  And  strangely,  not  one  of  the  forest 
creatures  that  heard  it  had  ears  sharp  enough  to 
tell  exactly  from  what  direction  it  had  come. 
And  that  made  it  all  the  more  unpleasant  to  lis- 
ten to. 

It  was  a  peculiar  growl,  quite  low  at  first.  It 
lasted  a  long  time,  then  died  away.  There  was  no 
opposition  to  it.  The  forest  creatures  had  paused 


io8      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

in  their  tracks  at  its  first  note,  and  now  they  stood 
as  if  the  winter  had  come  down  upon  them  suddenly 
and  frozen  them  solid.  All  the  other  sounds  of  the 
forest  —  the  little  whispering  noises  of  gliding 
bodies  and  fluttering  feet,  and  perhaps  a  bird's  call 
in  a  shrub  —  were  suddenly  stilled.  There  was  a 
moment  of  breathless  suspense.  Then  the  sound 
commenced  again. 

It  was  louder  this  time.  It  rose  and  gathered 
Volume  until  it  was  almost  a  roar.  It  carried 
through  the  silences  in  great  waves  of  sound.  And 
in  it  was  a  sense  of  resistless  power;  no  creature  in 
the  forest  but  what  knew  this  fact. 

"  The  Gray  King,"  one  could  imagine  them  say- 
ing among  themselves.  The  effect  was  instantane- 
ous. The  little  raccoon  halted  in  his  descent,  then 
crept  out  to  the  end  of  a  limb.  Perhaps  he  knew 
that  the  gray  monarch  could  not  climb  trees,  but 
nevertheless  he  felt  that  he  would  be  more  secure 
clear  at  the  swaying  limb-tip.  The  marten  forgot 
his  curiosity  in  regard  to  the  nest  of  the  magpie. 
The  gopher  snake  coiled,  then  slipped  away  silently 
through  the  grass. 

The  coyote,  an  instant  before  crawling  with  body 
close  to  the  earth,  whipped  about  as  if  he  had  some 
strange  kind  of  circular  spring  inside  of  him.  His 
nerves  were  always  rather  ragged,  and  the  sound 
had  frightened  out  of  him  the  rigid  control  of  his 
muscles  that  was  so  necessary  if  he  were  to  make  a 
successful  stalk  upon  the  fawn.  The  spotted  crea- 
ture bleated  in  terror,  then  darted  away;  and  the 
coyote  snarled  once  in  the  general  direction  of  the 


The   Blood   Atonement        109 

Gray  King.  Then  he  lowered  his  head  and  skulked 
off  deeper  into  the  coverts. 

The  blacktail  deer,  the  gray  wolf,  even  the  stately 
Tawny  One,  stretched  in  grace  in  his  lair,  wakened 
from  sleep.  The  languor  died  quickly  in  the  latter's 
eyes,  leaving  only  fear.  These  were  braver  than 
the  Little  People.  They  waited  until  the  thick 
brush,  not  far  distant  from  where  the  bull  elk  slept, 
began  to  break  down  and  part  before  an  enormous, 
gray  body. 

No  longer  would  an  observer  think  of  the  elk  as 
the  forest  monarch.  He  was  but  a  pretender,  after 
all.  The  real  king  had  just  wakened  from  his  after- 
noon nap  and  was  starting  forth  to  hunt. 

Even  his  little  cousins,  the  black  bears  (who,  after 
all  is  said  and  done,  furnish  most  of  the  comedy  of 
the  deadly  forest  drama)  did  not  wait  to  make  con- 
versation. They  tumbled  awkwardly  down  the  hill 
to  get  out  of  his  way.  For  the  massive  gray  form  — 
weighing  over  half  a  ton  —  was  none  other  than  that 
of  the  last  of  the  grizzly  bears,  that  terrible  forest 
hunter  and  monarch,  the  Killer  himself. 


XIV 

LONG  ago,  when  Oregon  was  a  new  land  to  white 
men,  in  the  days  of  the  clipper  ships  and  the  Old 
Oregon  Trail,  the  breed  to  which  the  Killer  belonged 
were  really  numerous  through  the  little  corner  north 
of  the  Siskiyous  and  west  of  the  Cascades.  The 
land  was  far  different  then.  The  transcontinental 
lines  had  not  yet  been  built;  the  only  settlements 
were  small  trading  posts  and  mining  camps,  and 
people  did  not  travel  over  paved  highways  in  auto- 
mobiles. If  they  went  at  all  it  was  in  a  prairie- 
schooner  or  on  horseback.  And  the  old  grizzly 
bears  must  have  found  the  region  a  veritable 
heaven. 

They  were  a  worthy  breed !  It  is  doubtful  if  any 
other  section  of  the  United  States  offered  an  en- 
vironment so  favorable  to  them.  Game  was  in  abun- 
dance, they  could  venture  down  into  the  valleys  at 
the  approach  of  winter  and  thus  miss  the  rigors  of 
the  snow,  and  at  first  there  were  no  human  enemies. 
Unfortunately,  stories  are  likely  to  grow  and  be- 
come sadly  addled  after  many  tellings;  but  if  the 
words  of  certain  old  men  could  be  believed,  the 
Southern  Oregon  grizzly  occasionally,  in  the  bounti- 
ful fall  days,  attained  a  weight  of  two  thousand 
pounds.  No  doubt  whatever  remains  that  thou- 
sand-pound bears  were  fairly  numerous.  They 


The   Blood  Atonement        in 

trailed,  up  and  down  the  brown  hillsides ;  they 
hunted  and  honey-grubbed  and  mated  in  the  fall; 
they  had  their  young  and  fought  their  battles  and 
died,  and  once  in  a  long  while  the  skeleton  of  a 
frontiersman  would  be  found  with  his  skull  battered 
perfectly  flat  where  one  of  the  great  beasts  had 
taken  a  short-arm  pat  at  him. 

But  unlike  the  little  black  bears,  the  grizzlies  de- 
veloped displeasing  habits.  They  were  much  more 
carnivorous  in  character  than  the  blacks,  and  their 
great  bodily  strength  and  power  enabled  them  to 
master  all  of  the  myriad  forms  of  game  in  the  Ore- 
gon woods.  By  the  same  token,  they  could  take  a 
full-grown  steer  and  carry  it  off  as  a  woman  car- 
ries her  baby. 

It  couldn't  be  endured.  The  cattlemen  had  be- 
gun to  settle  the  valleys,  and  it  was  either  a  case  of 
killing  the  grizzlies  or  yielding  the  valleys  to  them. 
In  the  relentless  war  that  followed,  the  breed  had 
been  practically  wiped  out.  A  few  of  them,  per- 
haps, fled  farther  and  farther  up  the  Cascades,  find- 
ing refuges  in  the  Canadian  mountains.  Others 
traveled  east,  locating  at  last  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, and  countless  numbers  of  them  died.  At  last, 
as  far  as  the  frontiersmen  knew,  only  one  great 
specimen  remained.  This  was  a  famous  bear  that 
men  called  Slewfoot,  —  a  magnificent  animal  that 
ranged  far  and  hunted  relentlessly,  and  no  one  ever 
knew  just  when  they  were  going  to  run  across  him. 
It  made  traveling  in  the  mountains  a  rather  tick- 
lish business.  He  was  apt  suddenly  to  loom  up, 
like  a  gray  cliff,  at  any  turn  in  the  trail,  and  his  dis- 


H2      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

position  grew  querulous  with  age.  In  fact,  instead 
of  fleeing  as  most  wild  creatures  have  learned  to 
do,  he  was  rather  likely  to  make  sudden  and  unex- 
pected charges. 

He  was  killed  at  last ;  and  seemingly  the  Southern 
Oregon  grizzlies  were  wiped  out.  But  it  is  rather 
easy  to  believe  that  in  some  of  his  wanderings  he  en- 
countered— lost  and  far  in  the  deepest  heart  of  the 
land  called  Trail's  End  —  a  female  of  his  own 
breed.  There  must  have  been  cubs  who,  in  their 
turn,  mated  and  fought  and  died,  and  perhaps  two 
generations  after  them.  And  out  of  the  last  brood 
had  emerged  a  single  great  male,  a  worthy  descend- 
ant of  his  famous  ancestor.  This  was  the  Killer, 
who  in  a  few  months  since  he  had  left  his  fastnesses, 
was  beginning  to  ruin  the  cattle  business  in  Trail's 
End. 

As  he  came  growling  from  his  bed  this  Septem- 
ber evening  he  was  not  a  creature  to  speak  of  lightly. 
He  was  down  on  all  fours,  his  vast  head  was  lowered, 
his  huge  fangs  gleamed  in  the  dark  red  mouth.  The 
eyes  were  small,  and  curious  little  red  lights  glowed 
in  each  of  them.  The  Killer  was  cross;  and  he 
did  n't  care  who  knew  it.  He  was  hungry  too ;  but 
hunger  is  an  emotion  for  the  beasts  of  prey  to  keep 
carefully  to  themselves.  He  walked  slowly  across 
the  little  glen,  carelessly  at  first,  for  he  was  too 
cross  and  out  of  temper  to  have  the  patience  to 
stalk.  He  stopped,  turning  his  head  this  way  and 
that,  marking  the  flight  of  the  wild  creatures.  He 
saw  a  pair  of  blacktail  bucks  spring  up  from  a  cov- 
ert and  dash  away;  but  he  only  made  one  short,  an- 


The   Blood  Atonement        113 

gry  lunge  toward  them.  He  knew  that  it  would 
only  cost  him  his  dignity  to  try  to  chase  them.  A 
grizzly  bear  can  move  astonishingly  fast  consider- 
ing his  weight  —  for  a  short  distance  he  can  keep 
pace  with  a  running  horse  —  but  a  deer  is  light  it- 
self. He  littered  one  short,  low  growl,  then  headed 
over  toward  a  great  wall  of  buckbush  at  the  base  of 
the  hill. 

But  now  his  hunting  cunning  had  begun  to  return 
to  him.  The  sun  was  setting,  the  pines  were  grow- 
ing dusky,  and  he  began  to  feel  the  first  excitement 
and  fever  that  the  fall  of  night  always  brings  to 
the  beasts  of  prey.  It  is  a  feeling  that  his  insignifi- 
cant cousins,  the  black  bears,  could  not  possibly 
have,  —  for  the  sole  reason  that  they  are  berry-eat- 
ers, not  hunters.  But  the  cougar,  stealing  down  a 
deer  trail  on  the  ridge  above,  and  a  lean  old  male 
wolf  —  stalking  a  herd  of  deer  on  the  other  side 
of  the  thicket  —  understood  it  very  well.  His 
blood  began  to  roll  faster  through  his  great  veins. 
The  sullen  glare  grew  in  his  eyes. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  the  hunting  hour  of  the 
larger  creatures.  All  the  forest  world  knew  it. 
The  air  seemed  to  throb  and  tingle,  the  shadowing 
thickets  began  to  pulse  and  stir  with  life.  The 
Fear  —  the  age-old  heritage  of  all  the  hunted  crea- 
tures —  returned  to  the  deer. 

The  Killer  moved  quite  softly  now.  One  would 
have  marveled  how  silently  his  great  feet  fell  upon 
the  dry  earth  and  with  what  slight  sound  his  heavy 
form  moved  through  the  thickets.  Once  he  halted, 
gazing  with  reddening  eyes.  But  the  coyote  — 


ii4      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

the  gray  figure  that  had  broken  a  twig  on  the  trail 
beside  him  —  slipped  quickly  away. 

He  skirted  the  thicket,  knowing  that  no  success- 
ful stalk  could  be  made  where  he  had  to  force  his 
way  through  dry  brush.  He  moved  slowly,  cau- 
tiously—  all  the  time  mounting  farther  up  the  little 
hill  that  rose  from  the  banks  of  the  stream.  He 
came  to  an  opening  in  the  thicket,  a  little  brown 
pathway  that  vanished  quickly  into  the  shadows  of 
the  coverts. 

The  Killer  slipped  softly  into  the  heavy  brush 
just  at  its  mouth.  It  was  his  ambush.  Soon,  he 
knew,  some  of  the  creatures  that  had  bowers  in  the 
heart  of  the  thicket  would  be  coming  along  that 
trail  toward  the  feeding  grounds  on  the  ridge.  He 
only  had  to  wait. 

As  the  shadows  grew  and  the  twilight  deepened, 
the  undercurrent  of  savagery  that  is  the  eternal 
quality  of  the  wilderness  grew  ever  more  pro- 
nounced. A  thrill  and  fever  came  in  the  air,  mys- 
tery in  the  deepening  shadows,  and  brighter  lights 
into  the  eyes  of  the  hunting  folk.  The  dusk  deep- 
ened between  the  trees ;  the  distant  trunks  dimmed 
and  faded  quite  away.  The  stars  emerged.  The 
nightwind,  rising  somewhere  in  the  region  of  the 
snow  banks  on  the  highest  mountains,  b^ew  down 
into  the  Killer's  face  and  brought  messages  that  no 
human  being  may  ever  receive.  Then  his  sharp 
ears  heard  the  sound  of  brush  cracked  softly  as  some 
one  of  the  larger  forest  creatures  came  up  the  trail 
toward  him. 

The  steps  drew  nearer  and  the  Killer  recognized 


The   Blood   Atonement        115 

them.  They  were  plainly  the  soft  footfall  of  some 
member  of  the  deer  tribe,  yet  they  were  too  pro- 
nounced to  be  the  step  of  any  of  the  lesser  deer. 
The  bull  elk  had  left  his  bed.  The  red  eyes  of  the 
grizzly  seemed  to  glow  as  he  waited.  Great  though 
the  stag  was,  only  one  little  blow  of  the  massive  fore- 
arm would  be  needed.  The  huge  fangs  would  have 
to  close  down  but  once.  The  long,  many-tined 
antlers,  the  sharp  front  hoofs  would  not  avail  him 
in  a  surprise  attack  such  as  this  would  be.  Best  of 
all,  he  was  not  suspecting  danger.  He  was  walk- 
ing down  wind,  so  that  the  pungent  odor  of  the  bear 
was  blown  away  from  him. 

The  bear  did  not  move  a  single  telltale  muscle. 
He  scarcely  breathed.  And  the  one  movement  that 
there  was  was  such  that  not  even  the  keen  ears  of  an 
elk  could  discern,  just  a  curious  erection  of  the  gray 
hairs  on  his  vast  neck. 

The  bull  was  almost  within  striking  range  now. 
The  wicked  red  eyes  could  already  discern  the  dim- 
mest shadow  of  his  outline  through  the  thickets. 
But  all  at  once  he  stopped,  head  lifting. 

Perhaps  a  grizzly  bear  does  not  have  mental 
processes  as  human  beings  know  them.  Per- 
haps all  impulse  is  the  result  of  instinct  alone, — 
instinct  tuned  and  trained  to  a  degree  that  human 
beings  find  hard  to  imagine.  But  if  the  bear 
could  n't  understand  the  sudden  halt  just  at  the  eve 
of  his  triumph,  at  least  he  felt  growing  anger.  He 
knew  perfectly  that  the  elk  had  neither  detected  his 
odor  nor  heard  him,  and  he  had  made  no  movements 
that  the  sharp  eyes  could  detect.  Just  a  glimpse  of 


1 1 6      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

gray  in  the  heavy  brush  would  not  have  been  enough 
in  itself  to  arouse  the  stag's  suspicions.  For  the 
lower  creatures  are  rarely  able  to  interpret  outline 
alone ;  there  must  be  movement  too. 

Yet  the  bull  was  evidently  alarmed.  He  stood 
immobile,  one  foot  lifted,  nostrils  open,  head  raised. 
Then,  the  wind  blowing  true,  the  grizzly  under- 
stood. 

A  pungent  smell  reached  him  from  below,  —  evi- 
dently the  smell  of  a  living  creature  that  followed 
the  trail  along  the  stream  that  flowed  through  the 
glen.  He  recognized  it  in  an  instant.  He  had  de- 
tected it  many  times,  particularly  when  he  went  into 
the  cleared  lands  to  kill  cattle.  It  was  man,  an 
odor  almost  unknown  in  this  lonely  glen.  Dave 
Turner,  brother  of  Simon,  was  walking  down  the 
stream  toward  Hudson's  camp. 

The  elk  was  widely  traveled  too,  and  he  also  real- 
ized the  proximity  of  man.  But  his  reaction  was 
entirely  different.  To  the  grizzly  it  was  an  annoy- 
ing interruption  to  his  hunt;  and  a  great  flood  of 
rage  swept  over  him.  It  seemed  to  him  that  these 
tall  creatures  were  always  crossing  his  path,  spoil- 
ing his  hunting,  even  questioning  his  rule  of  the 
forests.  They  did  not  seem  to  realize  that  he  was 
the  wilderness  king,  and  that  he  could  break  their 
slight  forms  in  two  with  one  blow  of  his  paw.  It 
was  true  that  their  eyes  had  strange  powers  to  dis- 
quiet him;  but  his  isolation  in  the  fastnesses  of 
Trail's  End  had  kept  him  from  any  full  recognition 
of  their  real  strength,  and  he  was  unfortunately 
lacking  in  the  awe  with  which  most  of  the  forest 


The   Blood  Atonement        117 

creatures  regard  them.  But  to  the  elk  this  smell 
was  Fear  itself.  He  knew  the  ways  of  men  only 
too  well.  'Too  many  times  he  had  seen  members  of 
his  herd  fall  stricken  at  a  word  from  the  glittering 
sticks  they  carried  in  their  hands.  He  uttered  a 
far-ringing  snort. 

It  was  a  distinctive  sound,  beginning  rather  high 
on  the  scale  as  a  loud  whistle  and  descending  into 
a  deep  bass  bawl.  And  the  Killer  knew  perfectly 
what  that  sound  meant.  It  was  a  simple  way  of 
saying  that  the  elk  would  progress  no  further  down 
that  trail.  The  bear  leaped  in  wild  fury. 

A  growl  that  was  more  near  a  puma-like  snarl 
came  from  between  the  bared  teeth,  and  the  great 
body  lunged  out  with  incredible  speed.  Although 
the  distance  was  far,  the  charge  was  almost  a  suc- 
cess. If  one  second  had  intervened  before  the  elk 
saw  the  movement,  if  his  muscles  had  not  been 
fitted  out  with  invisible  wings,  he  would  have  fought 
no  more  battles  with  his  herd  brethren  in  the  fall. 
The  bull  seemed  to  leap  straight  up.  His  muscles 
had  been  set  at  his  first  alarm  from  Turner's  smell 
on  the  wind,  and  they  drove  forth  the  powerful  limbs 
as  if  by  a  powder  explosion.  He  was  full  in  the  air 
when  the  forepaws  battered  down  where  he  had 
been.  Then  he  darted  away  into  the  coverts. 

The  grizzly  knew  better  than  to  try  to  overtake 
him.  Almost  rabid  with  wrath  he  turned  back  to 
his  ambush. 


XV 

SIMON  TURNER  had  given  Dave  very  definite  in- 
structions concerning  his  embassy  to  Hudson. 
They  were  given  in  the  gre^house  that  Simon  oc- 
cupied, in  the  same  room,  ligmedT)y  the  fire's  glow, 
from  which  instructions  had  gone  out  to  the  clan  so 
many  times  before.  "  The  first  thing  this  Bruce 
will  do,"  Simon  had  said,  "  is  to  hunt  up  Hudson  — 
the  one  living  man  that  witnessed  that  agreement 
between  Ross  and  old  Folger.  One  re%son  is  that 
he  '11  want  to  verify  Linda's  story.  The  next  is  to 
persuade  the  old  man  to  go  down  to  the  courts  with 
him  as  his  witness.  And  what  you  have  to  do  is 
line  him  up  on  our  side  first." 

Dave  had  felt  Simon's  eyes  upon  him,  so  he 
did  n't  look  straight  up.  "  And  that 's  what  the 
hundred  is  for?  "  he  asked. 

"Of  course.  Get  the  old  man's  word  that  he  '11 
tell  Bruce  he  never  witnessed  any  such  agreement. 
Maybe  fifty  dollars  will  do  it;  the  old  trapper  is 
pretty  hard  up,  I  reckon.  He  'd  make  us  a  lot  of 
trouble  if  Bruce  got  him  as  a  witness." 

1  You  think  -  Dave's  eyes  wandered  about 
the  room,  "  you  think  that 's  the  best  way?  " 

"  I  would  n't  be  tellin'  you  to  do  it  if  I  did  n't 
think  so."  Simon  laughed,  —  a  sudden,  grim  syl- 


The  Blood  Atonement        119 

lable.  "  Dave,  you  're  a  blood-thirsty  devil.  I  see 
what  you  're  thinking  of  —  of  a  safer  way  to  keep 
him  from  telling.  But  you  know  the  word  I 
sent  out.  '  Go  easy ! '  That 's  the  wisest  course 
to  follow  at  present.  The  valley  people  pay 
more  attention  to  such  things  than  they  used  to; 
the  fewer  the  killings,  the  wiser  we  will  be.  If 
he  '11  keep  quiet  for  the  hundred  let  him  have  it  in 
peace." 

Dave  had  n't  forgotten.  But  his  features  were 
sharper  and  more  ratlike  than  ever  when  he  came  in 
sight  of  Hudson's  camp,  just  after  the  fall  of  dark- 
ness of  the  second  day  out.  The  trapper  was  cook- 
ing his  simple  meal,  —  a  blue  grouse  frying  in  his 
skillec,  coffee  boiling,  and  flapjack  batter  ready  for 
the  moment,  the  grouse  was  done.  He  was  kneel- 
ing close  to  the  coals ;  the  firelight  cast  a  red  glow 
over  him,  and  the  picture  started  a  train  of  rather 
pleasing  conjectures  in  Dave's  mind. 

He  halted  in  the  shadows  and  stood  a  moment 
watching.  After  all  he  wasn't  greatly  different 
from  the  wolf  that  watched  by  the  deer  trail  or  the 
Killer  in  his  ambush,  less  than  a  mile  distant  in  the 
glen.  The  same  strange,  dark  passion  that  was 
over  them  both  was  over  him  also.  One  could  see 
it  in  the  almost  imperceptible  drawing  back  of  his 
dark  lips  over  his  teeth.  There  was  just  a  hint  of 
it  in  the  lurid  eyes. 

Dave's  thought  returned  to  the  hundred  dollars 
in  his  pocket,  —  a  good  sum  in  the  hills.  A  brass 
rifle  cartridge,  such  as  he  could  fire  in. the  thirty- 
thirty  that  he  carried  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm,  cost 


I2O      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

only  about  six  cents.  The  net  gain  would  be  — 
the  figures  flew  quickly  through  his  mind  —  ninety- 
nine  dollars  and  ninety- four  cents;  quite  a  good 
piece  of  business  for  Dave.  But  the  trouble  was 
that  Simon  might  find  out. 

It  was  not,  he  remembered,  that  Simon  was  ad- 
verse to  this  sort  of  operation  when  necessary. 
Perhaps  the  straight-out  sport  of  the  thing  meant 
more  to  him  than  to  Dave ;  he  was  a  braver  man  and 
more  primitive  in  impulse.  There  were  certain 
memory  pictures  in  Dave's  mind  of  this  younger, 
more  powerful  brother  of  his ;  and  he  smiled  grimly 
when  he  recalled  them.  They  had  been  wild, 
strange^  scenes  of  long  ago,  usually  in  the  pale  light 
of  the  moon,  and  he  could  recall  Simon's  face  with 
singular  clearness.  There  had  always  beer*  the 
same  drawing  back  of  the  lips,  the  same  gusty 
breathing,  the  same  strange  little  flakes  of  fire  in  the 
savage  eyes.  He  had  always  trembled  all  over  too, 
but  not  from  fear ;  and  Dave  remembered  especially 
well  the  little  drama  outside  Matthew  Folger's 
cabin  in  the  darkness.  He  was  no  stranger  to  the 
blood  madness,  this  brother  of  his,  and  the  clan  had 
high  hopes  for  him  even  in  his  growing  days.  And 
he  had  fulfilled  those  hopes.  Never  could  the  fact 
be  doubted!  He  could  still  make  a  fresh  notch  in 
his  rifle  stock  with  the  same  rapture.  But  the  word 
had  gone  out,  for  the  present  at  least,  to  "  go  easy." 
Such  little  games  as  occurred  to  Dave  now — as  he 
watched  the  trapper  in  the  firelight  with  one  hun- 
dred dollars  of  the  clan's  money  in  his  own  pocket  — 
had  been  prohibited  until  further  notice. 


The  Blood  Atonement        121 

The  thing  looked  so  simple  that  Dave  squirmed 
all  over  with  annoyance.  It  hurt  him  to  think  that  the 
hundred  dollars  that  he  carried  was  to  be  passed 
over,  without  a  wink  of  an  eye,  to  this  bearded  trap- 
per ;  and  the  only  return  for  it  was  to  be  a  promise 
that  Hudson  would  not  testify  in  Bruce's  behalf. 
And  a  hundred  dollars  was  real  money !  It  was  to 
be  thought  of  twice.  On  the  other  hand,  it  would  be 
wholly  impossible  for  one  that  lies  face  half -buried 
in  the  pine  needles  beside  a  dead  fire  to  make  any 
kind  of  testimony  whatsoever.  It  would  come  to 
the  same  thing,  and  the  hundred  dollars  would  still 
be  in  his  pocket.  Just  a  little  matter  of  a  single 
glance  down  his  rifle  barrel  at  the  figure  in  the  sil- 
houette of  the  fire  glow  —  and  a  half -ounce  of  pres- 
sure on  the  hair  trigger.  Half  jesting  with  himself, 
he  dropped  on  one  knee  and  raised  the  weapon. 
The  trapper  did  not  guess  his  presence.  The  blood 
leaped  in  Dave's  veins. 

It  would  be  so  easy;  the  drawing  back  of  the 
hammer  would  be  only  the  work  of  a  second ;  and  an 
instant's  peering  through  the  sights  was  all  that 
would  be  needed  further.  His  body  trembled  as  if 
with  passion,  as  he  started  to  draw  back  the  hammer. 

But  he  caught  himself  with  a  wrench.  He  had  a 
single  second  of  vivid  introspection;  and  what  he 
saw  filled  his  cunning  eyes  with  wonder.  There 
would  have  been  no  holding  back,  once  the  rifle  was 
cocked  and  he  saw  the  man  through  the  sights. 
The  blood  madness  would  have  been  too  strong  to 
resist.  He  felt  as  might  one  who,  taking  a  few  in- 
jections of  morphine  on  prescription,  finds  himself 


122      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

inadvertently  with  a  loaded  needle  in  his  hands.  He 
knew  a  moment  of  remorse  —  so  overwhelming  that 
it  was  almost  terror  —  that  the  shedding  of  blood 
had  become  so  easy  to  him.  He  had  n't  known  how 
easy  it  had  been  to  learn.  He  did  n't  know  that  a 
vice  is  nothing  but  a  lust  that  has  been  given  free 
play  so  many  times  that  the  will  can  no  longer  re- 
strain it. 

But  the  sight  of  Hudson's  form,  sitting  down  now 
to  his  meal,  dispelled  his  remorse  quickly.  After 
all,  his  own  course  would  have  been  the  simplest  way 
to  handle  the  matter.  There  would  be  no  danger 
that  Hudson  would  double-cross  them  then.  But 
he  realized  that  Simon  had  spoken  true  when  he  said 
that  the  old  days  were  gone,  that  the  arm  of  the  law 
reached  farther  than  formerly,  and  it  might  even 
stretch  to  this  far  place.  He  remembered  Simon's 
instructions.  '  The  quieter  we  can  do  these  things, 
the  better,"  the  clan  leader  had  said.  "  If  we  can  get 
through  to  October  thirtieth  with  no  killings,  the 
safer  it  is  for  us.  We  don't  know  how  the  tender- 
feet  in  the  valley  are  going  to  act  —  there  is  n't  the 
same  feeling  about  blood-feuds  that  there  used  to 
be.  Go  easy,  Dave.  Sound  this  Hudson  out.  If 
he  '11  keep  still  for  a  hundred,  let  him  have  it  in 
peace." 

Dave  slipped  his  rifle  into  the  hollow  of  his  arm 
and  continued  on  down  the  trail.  He  didn't  try 
to  stalk.  In  a  moment  Hudson  heard  his  step  and 
looked  up.  They  met  in  a  circle  of  firelight. 

It  is  not  the  mountain  way  to  fraternize  quickly, 
nor  are  the  mountain  men  quick  to  show  astonish- 


The   Blood   Atonement        123 

ment.  Hudson  had  not  seen  another  human  being 
since  his  last  visit  to  the  settlements.  Yet  his  voice 
indicated  no  surprise  at  this  visitation. 

"  Howdy,"  he  grunted. 

"  Howdy,"  Dave  replied.     "  How  about  grub?  " 

"  Help  yourself.     Supper  just  ready." 

Dave  helped  himself  to  the  food  of  the  man  that, 
a  moment  before,  he  would  have  slain;  and  in  the 
light  of  the  high  fire  that  followed  the  meal,  he  got 
down  to  the  real  business  of  the  visit. 

Dave  knew  that  a  fairly  straight  course  was  best. 
It  was  general  knowledge  through  the  hills  that  the 
Turners  had  gouged  the  Rosses  of  their  lands  and  it 
was  absurd  to  think  that  Hudson  did  not  realize 
the  true  state  of  affairs.  "  I  suppose  you  Ve  for- 
gotten that  little  deed  you  witnessed  between  old 
Mat  Folger  and  Ross  —  twenty  years  ago,"  Dave 
began  easily,  his  pipe  between  his  teeth. 

Hudson  turned  with  a  cunning  glitter  in  his  eyes. 
Dave  saw  it  and  grew  bolder.  '  Who  wants  me 
to  forget  it?  "Hudson  demanded. 

"  I  ain't  said  that  anybody  wants  you  to,"  Dave 
responded.  "  I  asked  if  you  had." 

Hudson  was  still  a  moment,  stroking  absently  his 
beard.  "If  you  want  to  know,"  he  said,  "  I  ain't 
forgotten.  But  there  was  n't  just  a  deed.  There 
was  an  agreement  too." 

Dave  nodded.  Hudson's  eyes  traveled  to  his 
rifle,  —  for  the  simple  reason  that  he  wanted  to 
know  just  how  many  jumps  he  would  be  obliged  to 
make  to  reach  it  in  case  of  emergencies.  Such 
things  are  good  to  know  in  meetings  like  this.  » 


124      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

"  I  know  all  about  that  agreement,"  Dave  con- 
fessed. 

"  You  do,  eh?  So  do  I.  I  ain't  likely  to  for- 
get." 

Dave  studied  him  closely.  '  What  good  is  it  go- 
ing to  do  you  to  remember?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I  ain't  saying  that  it  ?s  going  to  do  me  any  good. 
At  present  I  ain't  got  nothing  against  the  Turners. 
They  Ve  always  been  all  right  to  me.  What 's  be- 
tween them  and  the  Rosses  is  past  and  done  —  al- 
though I  know  just  in  what  way  Folger  held  that 
land  and  no  transfer  from  him  to  you  was  legal. 
But  that 's  all  part  of  the  past.  As  long  as  the 
Turners  continue  to  be  my  friends  I  don't  see  why 
anything  should  be  said  about  it." 

Dave  did  not  misunderstand  him.  He  did  n't 
in  the  least  assume  that  these  friendly  words  meant 
that  he  could  go  back  to  the  ranches  with  the  hun- 
dred dollars  still  in  his  pocket.  It  meant  merely 
that  Hudson  was  open  to  reason  and  it  would  n't 
have  to  be  a  shooting  affair. 

Dave  speculated.  It  was  wholly  plain  that  the 
old  man  had  not  yet  heard  of  Bruce's  return. 
There  was  no  need  to  mention  him.  "  We  're  glad 
you  are  our  friend,"  Dave  went  on.  "  But  we  don't 
expect  no  one  to  stay  friends  with  us  unless  they 
benefit  to  some  small  extent  by  it.  How  many  furs 
do  you  hope  to  take  this  year?  " 

"  Not  enough  to  pay  to  pack  out.     Maybe  two 
hundred  dollars  in  bounties  before  New  Year- 
coyotes  and  wolves.     Maybe  a  little  better  in  the 
three  months  following  in  furs." 


The   Blood   Atonement        125 

'  Then  maybe  fifty  or  seventy-five  dollars,  with- 
out bothering  to  set  the  traps,  wouldn't  come  in  so 
bad." 

"  It  would  n't  come  in  bad,  but  it  does  n't  buy 
much  these  days.  A  hundred  would  do  better." 

"  A  hundred  it  is,"  Dave  told  him  with  finality. 

The  eyes  above  the  dark  beard  shone  in  the  fire- 
light. "  I  'd  forget  I  had  a  mother  for  a  hundred 
dollars,"  he  said.  He  watched,  greedily,  as  Dave's 
gaunt  hand  went  into  his  pocket.  "  I  'm  gettin' 
old,  Dave.  Every  dollar  is  harder  for  me  to  get. 
The  wolves  are  gettin'  wiser,  the  mink  are  fewer. 
There  ain't  much  that  I  would  n't  do  for  a  hundred 
dollars  now.  You  know  how  it  is." 

Yes,  Dave  knew.  The  money  changed  hands. 
The  fire  burned  down.  They  sat  a  long  time,  deep 
in  their  own  thoughts. 

"  All  we  ask,"  Dave  said,  "  is  that  you  don't  take 
sides  against  us." 

"  I  '11  remember.  Of  course  you  want  me,  in  case 
I  'm  ever  subpoenaed,  to  recall  signing  the  deed  it- 
self." 

"  Yes,  we  'd  want  you  to  testify  to  that." 

"  Of  course.  If  there  had  n't  been  any  kind  of  a 
deed,  Folger  could  n't  have  deeded  the  property  to 
you.  But  how  would  it  be,  if  any  one  asks  me  about 
it,  to  swear  that  there  never  was  no  secret  agree- 
ment, but  a  clear  transfer;  and  to  make  it  sound 
reasonable  for  me  to  say  —  to  say  that  Ross  was 
forced  to  deed  the  land  to  Folger  because  he  'd  had 
goings-on  with  Folger's  wife,  and  Folger  was 
about  to  kill  him?  " 


126      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

The  only  response,  at  first,  was  the  slightest,  al- 
most imperceptible  narrowing  of  Dave's  eyes.  He 
had  considerable  native  cunning,  but  such  an  idea  as 
this  had  never  occurred  to  him.  But  he  was  crafty 
enough  to  see  its  tremendous  possibilities  at  once. 
All  that  either  Simon  or  himself  had  hoped  for  was 
that  the  old  man  would  not  testify  in  Bruce's  be- 
half. But  he  saw  that  such  a  story,  coming  from 
the  apparently  honest  old  trapper,  might  have  a 
profound  effect  upon  Bruce.  Dave  understood  hu- 
man nature  well  enough  to  know  that  he  would 
probably  lose  faith  in  the  entire  enterprise.  To 
Bruce  it  had  been  nothing  but  an  old  woman's  story, 
after  all ;  it  was  wholly  possible  that  he  would  relin- 
quish all  effort  to  return  the  lands  to  Linda  Ross. 
Men  always  can  believe  stranger  things  of  sex  than 
any  other  thing ;  Bruce  would  in  all  prftbability  find 
Hudson's  story  much  more  logical  than  the  one 
Linda  had  told  him  under  the  pine.  It  was  worth 
one  hundred  dollars,  after  all. 

"  I  '11  bet  you  could  make  him  swallow  it,  hook, 
bait,  and  sinker,"  Dave  responded  at  last,  flattering. 
They  chuckled  together  in  the  darkness.  Then 
they  turned  to  the  blankets. 

"  I  '11  show  you  another  trail  out  to-morrow," 
Hudson  told  him.  "  It  comes  into  the  glen  that 
you  passed  to-night  —  the  canyon  that  the  Killer 
has  been  using  lately  for  a  hunting  ground." 


XVI 

THE  Killer  had  had  an  unsuccessful  night.  He 
had  waited  the  long  hours  through  at  the  mouth  of 
the  trail,  but  only  the  Little  People  —  such  as  the 
rabbits  and  similar  folk  that  hardly  constituted  a 
single  bite  in  his  great  jaws  —  had  come  his  way. 
Now  it  was  morning  and  it  looked  as  if  he  would 
have  to  go  hungry. 

The  thought  did  n't  improve  his  already  doubtful 
mood.  He  wanted  to  growl.  The  only  thing  that 
kept  him  from  it  was  the  realization  that  it  would 
frighten  away  any  living  creature  that  might  be  ap- 
proaching toward  him  up  the  trail.  He  started  to 
stretch  his  great  muscles,  intending  to  leave  his  am- 
bush. But  all  at  once  he  froze  again  into  a  lifeless 
gray  patch  in  the  thickets. 

There  were  light  steps  on  the  trail.  Again  they 
were  the  steps  of  deer,  —  but  not  of  the  great,  wary 
elk  this  time.  Instead  it  was  just  a  fawn,  or  a 
yearling  doe  at  least,  such  a  creature  as  had  not  yet 
learned  to  suspect  every  turn  in  the  trail.  The 
morning  light  was  steadily  growing,  the  stars  were 
all  dimmed  or  else  entirely  faded  in  the  sky,  and  it 
would  have  been  highly  improbable  that  a  full- 
grown  buck  in  his  wisdom  would  draw  within  leap- 
ing range  without  detecting  him.  But  he  hadn't 


128      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

the  slightest  doubt  about  the  fawn.  They  were  in- 
nocent people,  —  and  their  flesh  was  very  tender. 
The  forest  gods  had  been  good  to  him,  after  all. 

He  peered  through  the  thickets,  and  in  a  moment 
more  he  had  a  glimpse  of  the  spotted  skin.  It  was 
almost  too  easy.  The  fawn  was  stealing  toward 
him  with  mincing  steps  —  as  graceful  a  creature  as 
dwelt  in  all  this  wilderness  world  of  grace  —  and  its 
eyes  were  soft  and  tender  as  a  girl's.  It  was  evi- 
dently giving  no  thought  to  danger,  only  rejoicing 
that  the  fearful  hours  of  night  were  done.  The 
mountain  lion  had  already  sought  its  lair.  The 
fawn  did  n't  know  that  a  worse,  terror  still  lingered 
at  the  mouth  of  the  trail. 

But  even  as  the  Killer  watched,  the  prize  was 
simply  taken  out  of  his  mouth.  A  gray  wolf  —  a 
savage  old  male  that  also  had  just  finished  an  un- 
successful hunt  —  had  been  stealing  through  the 
thickets  in  search  of  a  lair,  and  he  came  out  on  the 
trail  not  fifty  feet  distant,  halfway  between  the 
bear  and  the  fawn.  The  one  was  almost  as  sur- 
prised as  the  other.  The  fawn  turned  with  a  fright- 
ened bleat  and  darted  away;  the  wolf  swung  into 
pursuit. 

The  bear  lunged  forward  with  a  howl  of  rage. 
He  leaped  into  the  trail  mouth,  then  ran  as  fast  as 
he  could  in  pursuit  of  the  running  wolf.  He  was 
too  enraged  to  stop  to  think  that  a  grizzly  bear  has 
never  yet  been  able  to  overtake  a  wolf,  once  the  trim 
legs  got  well  into  action.  At  first  he  could  n't  think 
about  anything;  he  had  been  cheated  too  many 
times.  His  first  impulse  was  one  of  tremendous 


The   Blood   Atonement        129 

and  overpowering  wrath,  —  a  fury  that  meant  death 
to  the  first  living  creature  that  he  met. 

But  in  a  single  second  he  realized  that  this  wild 
chase  was  fairly  good  tactics,  after  all.  The 
chances  for  a  meal  were  still  rather  good.  The 
fawn  and  the  wolf  were  in  the  open  now,  and  it  was 
wholly  evident  that  the  gray  hunter  would  overtake 
the  quarry  in  another  moment.  It  was  true  that 
the  Killer  would  miss  the  pleasure  of  slaying  his  own 
game,  —  the  ecstatic  blow  to  the  shoulder  and  the 
bite  to  the  throat  that  followed  it.  In  this  case, 
the  wolf  would  do  that  part  of  the  work  for  him. 
It  was  just  a  simple  matter  of  driving  the  creature 
away  from  his  dead. 

The  fawn  reached  the  stream  bank,  then  went 
bounding  down  the  margin.  The  distance  short- 
ened between  them.  It  was  leaping  wildly,  already 
almost  exhausted ;  the  wolf  raced  easily,  body  close 
to  the  ground,  in  long,  tireless  strides.  The  grizzly 
bear  sped  behind  him. 

But  at  that  instant  fate  took  a  hand  in  this  merry 
little  chase.  To  the  fawn,  it  was  nothing  but  a 
sharp  clang  of  metal  behind  him  and  an  answering 
shriek  of  pain, —  sounds  that  in  its  terror  it  heard 
but  dimly.  But  it  was  an  unlooked-for  and  tragic 
reality  to  the  wolf.  His  leap  was  suddenly  arrested 
in  mid-air,  and  he  was  hurled  to  the  ground  with 
stunning  force.  Cruel  metal  teeth  had  seized  his 
leg,  and  a  strong  chain  held  him  when  he  tried  to 
escape.  He  fought  it  with  desperate  savagery. 
The  fawn  leaped  on  to  safety. 

But  there  was  no  need  of  the  grizzly  continuing 


130      The  Strength   of  the   Pines 

its  pursuit.  Everything  had  turned  out  quite  well 
for  him,  after  all.  A  wolf  is  ever  so  much  more  fill- 
ing than  any  kind  of  seasonal  fawn;  and  the  old 
gray  pack  leader  was  imprisoned  and  helpless  in 
one  of  Hudson's  traps. 

In  the  first  gray  of  morning,  Dave  Turner  started 
back  toward  his  home.  "  I  '11  go  with  you  to  the 
forks  in  the  trail,"  Hudson  told  him.  "  I  want  to 
take  a  look  at  some  of  my  traps,  anyhow." 

Turner  had  completed  his  business  none  too  soon. 
At  the  same  hour  —  as  soon  as  it  was  light  enough 
to  see  —  Bruce  was  finishing  his  breakfast  in  prep- 
aration for  the  last  lap  of  his  journey.  He  had 
passed  the  night  by  a  spring  on  a  long  ridge,  almost 
in  eye  range  of  Hudson's  camp.  Now  he  was  pre- 
paring to  dip  down  into  the  Killer's  glen. 

Turner  and  Hudson  followed  up  the  little  creek, 
walking  almost  in  silence.  It  is  a  habit  all  mountain 
men  fall  into,  sooner  or  later,  —  not  to  waste  words. 
The  great  silences  of  the  wild  places  seem  to  forbid 
it.  Hudson  walked  ahead,  Turner  possibly  a  dozen 
feet  behind  him.  And  because  of  the  carpet  of  pine 
needles,  the  forest  creatures  could  hardly  hear  them 
come. 

Occasionally  they  caught  glimpses  of  the  wild 
life  that  teemed  about  them,  but  they  experienced 
none  of  the  delight  that  had  made  the  two- day  tramp 
such  a  pleasure  to  Bruce.  Hudson  thought  in 
terms  of  pelts  only;  no  creature  that  did  not  wear 
a  marketable  hide  was  worth  a  glance.  Turner  did 
not  feel  even  this  interest. 


The   Blood   Atonement        131 

The  first  of  Hudson's  sets  proved  empty.  The 
second  was  about  a  turn  in  the  creek,  and  a  wall  of 
brush  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  tell  at  a  distance 
whether  or  not  he  had  made  a  catch.  But  when 
still  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant,  Hudson  heard  a 
sound  that  he  thought  he  recognized.  It  was  a  high, 
sharp,  agonized  bark  that  dimmed  into  a  low  whine. 
"  I  believe  I  Ve  got  a  coyote  or  a  wolf  up  there," 
he  said.  They  hastened  their  steps. 

"  And  you  use  that  little  pea-gun  for  wolves?  " 
Dave  Turner  asked.  He  pointed  to  the  short-bar- 
reled, twenty-two  caliber  rifle  that  was  slung  on  the 
trapper's  back.  "  It  does  n't  look  like  it  would  kill 
a  mosquito." 

"  A  killer  gun,"  Hudson  explained.  "  For  pol- 
ishin'  'em  off  when  they  are  alive  in  the  traps.  Of 
course,  it  would  n't  be  no  good  more  'n  ten  feet 
away,  and  then  you  have  to  aim  at  a  vital  spot.  But 
I  Ve  heard  tell  of  animals  I  would  n't  want  to  meet 
with  that  thirty-thirty  of  yours." 

This  was  true  enough.  Dave  had  heard  of  them 
also.  A  thirty-thirty  is  a  powerful  weapon,  but  it 
isn't  an  elephant  gun.  They  hurried  on,  Dave 
very  anxious  to  watch  the  execution  that  would 
shortly  ensue  if  whatever  animal  had  cried  from  the 
trap  was  still  alive.  Such  things  were  only  the 
day's  work  to  Hudson,  but  Dave  felt  a  little  tingle 
of  anticipation.  And  the  thought  damned  him  be- 
yond redemption. 

But  instead  of  the  joy  of  killing  a  cowering,  ter- 
ror-stricken animal,  helpless  in  the  trap,  the  wilder- 
ness had  made  other  plans  for  Hudson  and  Dave. 


132      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

They  hastened  about  the  impenetrable  wall  of  brush, 
and  in  one  glance  they  knew  that  more  urgent  busi- 
ness awaited  them. 

The  whole  picture  loomed  suddenly  before  their 
eyes.  There  was  no  wolf  in  the  trap.  The  steel 
had  sprung,  certainly,  but  only  a  hideous  fragment 
of  a  foot  remained  between  the  jaws.  The  bone 
had  been  broken  sharply  off,  as  a  man  might  break 
a  match  in  his  fingers.  There  was  no  living  wolf 
for  Hudson  to  execute  with  his  killer  gun.  Life 
had  gone  out  of  the  gray  body  many  minutes  before. 
The  two  men  saw  all  these  things  as  a  background 
only,  —  dim  details  about  the  central  figure.  But 
the  thing  that  froze  them  in  their  tracks  with  terror 
was  the  great,  gray  form  of  the  Killer,  not  twenty 
feet  distant,  beside  the  mangled  body  of  the  wolf. 

The  events  that  followed  thereafter  came  in  such 
quick  succession  as  to  seem  simultaneous.  For  one 
fraction  of  an  instant  all  three  figures  stood  mo- 
tionless, the  two  men  staring,  the  grizzly  half -lean- 
ing over  his  prey,  his  head  turned,  his  little  red  eyes 
full  of  hatred.  Too  many  times  this  night  he  had 
missed  his  game.  It  was  the  same  intrusion  that 
had  angered  him  before,  —  slight  figures  to  break  to 
pieces  with  one  blow.  Perhaps  —  for  no  man  may 
trace  fully  the  mental  processes  of  animals  —  his 
fury  fully  transcended  the  fear  that  he  must  have 
instinctively  felt;  at  least,  he  did  not  even  attempt 
to  flee.  He  uttered  one  hoarse,  savage  note,  a 
sound  in  which  all  his  hatred  and  his  fury  and  his 
savage  power  were  made  manifest,  whirled  with  in- 
credible speed,  and  charged. 


The   Blood  Atonement        133 

The  lunge  seemed  only  a  swift  passing  of  gray 
light.  No  eye  could  believe  that  the  vast  form  could 
move  with  such  swiftness.  There  was  little  impres- 
sion of  an  actual  leap.  Rather  it  was  just  a  blow; 
the  great  form,  huddled  over  the  dead  wolf,  had 
simply  reached  the  full  distance  to  Hudson. 

The  man  did  not  even  have  time  to  turn.  There 
was  no  defense;  his  killer-gun  was  strapped  on  his 
back,  and  even  if  it  had  been  in  his  hands,  its  little 
bullet  would  not  have  mattered  the  sting  of  a  bee  in 
honey-robbing.  The  only  possible  chance  of  break- 
ing that  deadly  charge  lay  in  the  thirty-thirty  deer 
rifle  in  Dave's  arms ;  but  the  craven  who  he.ld  it  did 
not  even  fire.  He  was  standing  just  below  the  out- 
stretched limb  of  a  tree,  and  the  weapon  fell  from 
his  hands  as  he  swung  up  into  the  limb.  The  fact 
that  Hudson  stood  weaponless,  ten  feet  away  in  the 
clearing,  did  not  deter  him  in  the  least. 

No  human  flesh  could  stand  against  that  charge. 
The  vast  paw  fell  with  resistless  force ;  and  no  need 
arose  for  a  second  blow.  The  trapper's  body  was 
struck  down  as  if  felled  by  a  meteor,  and  the  power 
of  the  impact  forced  it  deep  into  the  carpet  of  pine 
needles.  The  savage  creature  turned,  the  white 
fangs  caught  the  light  in  the  open  mouth.  The 
head  lunged  toward  the  man's  shoulder. 

No  man  may  say  what  agony  Hudson  would  have 
endured  in  the  last  few  seconds  of  his  life  if  the 
Killer  had  been  given  time  and  opportunity.  His 
usual  way  was  to  linger  long,  sharp  fangs  closing 
again  and  again,  until  all  living  likeness  was  de- 
stroyed. The  blood-lust  was  upon  him;  there 


134      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

would  have  been  no  mercy  to  the  dying  creature 
in  the  pine  needles.  Yet  it  transpired  that  Hud- 
son's flesh  was  not  to  know  those  rending  fangs  a 
second  time.  Although  it  is  an  unfamiliar  thing  in 
the  wilderness,  the  end  of  Hudson's  trail  was  peace- 
ful, after  all. 

On  the  hillside  above,  a  stranger  to  this  land  had 
dropped  to  his  knee  in  the  shrubbery,  his  rifle  lifted 
to  the  level  of  his  eyes.  It  was  Bruce,  who  had 
come  in  time  to  see  the  charge  through  a  rift  in  the 
trees. 


XVII 

THERE  were  deep  significances  in  the  fact  that 
Bruce  kept  his  head  in  this  moment  of  crisis.  It 
meant  nothing  less  than  an  iron  self-control  such  as 
only  the  strongest  men  possess,  and  it  meant  nerves 
steady  as  steel  bars. 

The  bear  was  on  Hudson,  and  the  man  had  gone 
down,  before  Bruce  even  interpreted  him.  Then  it 
was  just  a  gray  patch,  a  full  three  hundred  yards 
away.  His  instinct  was  to  throw  the  gun  to  his 
shoulder  and  fire  without  aiming;  yet  he  conquered 
it  with  an  iron  will.  But  he  did  move  quickly.  He 
dropped  to  his  knee  the  single  second  that  the  gun 
leaped  to  his  shoulder.  He  seemed  to  know  that 
from  a  lower  position  the  target  would  be  more 
clearly  revealed.  The  finger  pressed  back  against 
the  trigger. 

The  distance  was  far;  Bruce  was  not  a  prac- 
ticed rifle  shot,  and  it  bordered  on  the  miraculous 
that  his  lead  went  anywhere  near  the  bear's  body. 
And  it  was  true  that  the  bullet  did  not  reach  a  vital 
place.  It  stung  like  a  wasp  at  the  Killer's  flank, 
however,  cutting  a  shallow  flesh  wound.  But  it  was 
enough  to  take  his  dreadful  attention  from  the  mor- 
tally wounded  trapper  in  the  pine  needles. 

He  whirled  about,  growling  furiously  and  biting 
at  the  wound.  Then  he  stood  still,  turning  his  gaze 


136      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

first  to  the  pale  face  of  Dave  Turner  thirty  feet 
above  him  in  the  pine.  The  eyes  glowed  in  fury 
and  hatred.  He  had  found  men  out  at  last;  they 
died  even  more  easily  than  the  fawn.  He  started 
to  turn  back  to  the  fallen,  and  the  rifle  spoke  again. 

It  was  a  complete  miss,  this  time;  yet  the  bear 
leaped  in  fear  when  the  bullet  thwacked  into  the 
dust  beside  him.  He  did  not  wait  for  a  third.  His 
caution  suddenly  returning  to  him,  and  perhaps  his 
anger  somewhat  satiated  by  the  blow  he  had  dealt 
Hudson,  he  crashed  into  the  security  of  the  thicket. 

Bruce  waited  a  single  instant,  hoping  for  an- 
other glimpse  of  the  creature ;  then  ran  down  to  aid 
Hudson.  But  in  driving  the  bear  from  the  trap- 
per's helpless  body  he  had  already  given  all  the  aid 
that  he  could.  Understanding  came  quickly.  He 
had  arrived  only  in  time  for  the  Departure,  —  just 
a  glimpse  of  a  light  as  it  faded.  The  blow  had  been 
more  than  any  human  being  could  survive ;  even  now 
Hudson  was  entering  upon  that  strange  calm  which 
often,  so  mercifully,  immediately  precedes  death. 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  with  some  wonder 
into  Bruce's  face.  The  light  in  them  was  dimming, 
fading  like  a  twilight,  yet  there  was  indication  of 
neither  confusion  nor  delirium.  Hudson,  in  that 
last  moment  of  his  life,  was  quite  himself. 

There  was,  however,  some  indication  of  perplex- 
ity at  the  peculiar  turn  affairs  had  taken.  '  You  're 
not  Dave  Turner,"  he  said  wonderingly. 

Dim  though  the  voice  was,  there  was  considerable 
emphasis  in  the  tone.  Hudson  seemed  quite  sure  of 
this  point,  whether  or  not  he  knew  anything  con- 


The   Blood  Atonement        137 

cerning  the  dark  gates  he  was  about  to  enter.  He 
wouldn't  have  spoken  greatly  different  if  he  had 
been  sitting  in  perfect  health  before  his  own  camp 
fire  and  the  shadow  was  now  already  so  deep  his 
eyes  could  scarcely  penetrate  it. 

"  No,"  Bruce  answered.  "  Dave  Turner  is  up  a 
tree.  He  did  n't  even  wait  to  shoot." 

"  Of  course  he  would  n't."  Hudson  spoke  with 
assurance.  The  words  dimmed  at  the  end,  and  he 
half-closed  his  eyes  as  if  he  were  too  sleepy  to  stay 
awake  longer.  Then  Bruce  saw  a  strange  thing. 
He  saw,  unmistakable  as  the  sun  in  the  sky,  the 
signs  of  a  curious  struggle  in  the  man's  face.  There 
was  a  singular  deepening  of  the  lines,  a  twitching  of 
the  muscles,  a  queer  set  to  the  lips  and  jaws.  They 
were  as  much  signs  of  battle  as  the  sound  of  firing 
a  general  hears  from  far  away. 

The  trapper  —  a  moment  before  sinking  into  the 
calm  of  death  —  was  fighting  desperately  for  a  few 
moments  of  respite.  There  could  be  no  other  ex- 
planation. And  he  won  it  at  last,  —  an  interlude  of 
half  a  dozen  breaths.  "Who  are  you?  "  he  whis- 
pered. 

Bruce  bowed  his  head  until  his  ear  was  close  to 
the  lips.  "  Bruce  Folger,"  he  answered,  —  for  the 
first  time  in  his  knowledge  speaking  his  full  name. 
"  Son  of  Matthew  Folger  who  lived  at  Trail's  End 
long  ago." 

The  man  still  struggled.  "  I  knew  it,"  he  said. 
"  I  saw  it  —  in  your  face.  I  see  —  everything  now. 
Listen  —  can  you  hear  me?  " 

"  Yes." 


138      The   Strength   of  the    Pines 

"  I  just  did  a  wrong  —  there  's  a  hundred  dollars 
in  my  pocket  that  I  just  got  for  doing  it.  I  made  a 
promise  —  to  lie  to  you.  Take  the  money  —  it 
ought  to  be  yours,  anyway  —  and  hers ;  and  use  it 
toward  fighting  the  wrong.  It  will  go  a  little  way." 
'  Yes,"  Bruce  looked  him  full  in  the  eyes. 
"  No  matter  about  the  money.  What  did  you 
promise  Turner? " 

"  That  I  'd  lie  to  you.  Grip  my  arms  with  your 
hands  —  till  it  hurts.  I  've  only  got  one  breath 
more.  Your  father  held  those  lands  only  in  trust 
—  the  Turners'  deed  is  forged.  And  the  secret 
agreement  that  I  witnessed  is  hidden  —  " 

The  breath  seemed  to  go  out  of  the  man.  Bruce 
shook  him  by  the  shoulders.  Dave,  still  in  the  tree, 
strained  to  hear  the  rest.  "  Yes  —  where?  " 

"It's  hidden  — just  — out-  The  words 

were  no  longer  audible  to  Dave,  and  what  followed 
Bruce  also  strained  to  hear  in  vain.  The  lips  ceased 
moving.  The  shadow  grew  in  the  eyes,  and  the  lids 
flickered  down  over  them.  A  traveler  had  gone. 

Bruce  got  up,  a  strange,  cold  light  in  his  eyes. 
He  glanced  up.  Dave  Turner  was  climbing  slowly 
down  the  tree.  Bruce  made  six  strides  and  seized 
his  rifle. 

The  effect  on  Dave  was  ludicrous.  He  clung 
fast  to  the  tree  limbs,  as  if  he  thought  a  bullet  — 
like  a  grizzly's  claws  —  could  not  reach  him  there. 
Bruce  laid  the  gun  behind  him,  then  stood  waiting 
with  his  own  weapon  resting  in  his  arms. 

"  Come  down,  Dave,"  he  commanded'.  '  The 
bear  is  gone." 


The   Blood  Atonement        139 

Dave  crept  down  the  trunk  and  halted  at  its  base. 
He  studied  the  cold  face  before  him.  "  Better  not 
try  nothing,"  he  advised  hoarsely. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Bruce  asked.  "  Do  you  think  I  'm 
afraid  of  a  coward?  "  The  man  started  at  the 
words;  his  head  bobbed  backward  as  if  Bruce  had 
struck  him  beneath  the  jaw  with  his  fist. 

"  People  don't  call  the  Turners  cowards  and  walk 
off  with  it,"  the  man  told  him. 

"  Oh,  the  lowest  coward!  "  Bruce  said  between 
set  teeth.  "  The  yellowest,  mongrel  coward !  Your 
own  confederate  —  and  you  had  to  drop  your  gun 
and  run  up  a  tree.  You  might  have  stopped  the 
bear's  charge." 

Dave's  face  twisted  in  a  scowl.  '  You  're  brave 
enough  now.  Wait  to  see  what  happens  later. 
Give  me  my  gun.  I  'm  going  to  go." 

"  You  can  go,  but  you  don't  get  your  gun.  I  '11 
fill  you  full  of  lead  if  you  try  to  touch  it." 

Dave  looked  up  with  some  care.  He  wanted  to 
know  for  certain  if  this  tenderfoot  meant  what  he 
said.  The  man  was  blind  in  some  things,  his  vision 
was  twisted  and  dark,  but  he  made  no  mistake  about 
the  look  on  the  cold,  set  face  before  him.  Bruce's 
finger  was  curled  about  the  trigger,  and  it  looked 
to  Dave  as  if  it  itched  to  exert  further  pressure. 

"  I  don't  see  why  I  spare  you,  anyway,"  Bruce 
went  on.  His  tone  was  self -reproachful.  "  God 
knows  I  had  n't  ought  to  —  remembering  who  and 
what  you  are.  If  you  'd  only  give  me  one  little  bit 
of  provocation  —  " 

Dave  saw  lurid  lights  growing  in  the  man's  eyes ; 


140      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

and  all  at  once  a  conclusion  came  to  him.  He  de- 
cided he  'd  make  no  further  effort  to  regain  the  gun. 
His  life  was  rather  precious  to  him,  strangely,  and 
it  was  wholly  plain  that  a  dread  and  terrible  passion 
was  slowly  creeping  over  his  enemy.  He  could  see 
it  in  the  darkening  face,  the  tight  grip  of  the  hands 
on  the  rifle  stock.  His  own  sharp  features  grew 
more  cunning.  "  You  ought  to  be  glad  I  did  n't 
stop  the  bear  with  my  rifle,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "  I 
had  Hudson  bribed  —  you  would  n't  have  found  out 
something  that  you  did  find  out  if  he  had  n't  lain 
here  dying.  You  would  n't  have  learned  —  ' 

But  the  sentence  died  in  the  middle.  Bruce  made 
answer  to  it.  For  once  in  his  life  Dave's  cunning 
had  not  availed  him ;  he  had  said  the  last  thing  in  the 
world  that  he  should  have  said,  the  one  thing  that 
was  needed  to  cause  an  explosion.  He  hadn't 
known  that  some  men  have  standards  other  than 
self  gain.  And  some  small  measure  of  realization 
came  to  him  when  he  felt  the  dust  his  full  length 
under  him. 

Bruce's  answer  had  been  a  straight-out  blow  with 
his  flst,  with  all  his  strength  behind  it,  in  the  very 
center  of  his  enemy's  face. 


XVIII 

IN  his  years  of  residence  at  Trail's  End,  Dave 
Turner  had  acquired  a  thorough  knowledge  of  all 
its  paths.  That  knowledge  stood  him  in  good  stead 
now.  He  wished  to  cross  the  ridges  to  Simon's 
house  at  least  an  hour  before  Bruce  could  return  to 
Linda. 

He  traveled  hard  and  late,  and  he  reached  Si- 
mon's door  just  before  sundown  of  the  second  day. 
Bruce  was  still  a  full  two  hours  distant.  But 
Dave  did  not  stay  to  knock.  It  was  chore-time,  and 
he  thought  he  would  find  Simon  in  his  barn,  super- 
vising the  feeding  and  care  of  the  livestock.  He 
had  guessed  right,  and  the  two  men  had  a  moment's 
talk  in  the  dusky  passage  behind  the  stalls. 

"  I  've  brought  news,"  Dave  said. 

Simon  made  no  answer  at  first.  The  saddle  pony 
in  the  stall  immediately  in  front  of  them,  frightened 
at  Dave's  unfamiliar  figure,  had  crowded,  trem- 
bling, against  his  manger.  Simon's  red  eyes  watched 
him;  then  he  uttered  a  short  oath.  He  took  two 
strides  into  the  stall  and  seized  the  halter  rope  in  his 
huge,  muscular  hand.  Three  times  he  jerked  it 
with  a  peculiar,  quartering  pull,  a  curbing  that 
might  have  been  ineffective  by  a  man  of  ordinary 
strength,  but  with  the  incomprehensible  might  of 
the  great  forearm  behind  it  was  really  terrible  pun- 
ishment. Dave  thought  for  a  moment  his  brother 


142      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

would  break  the  animal's  neck ;  the  whites  began  to 
show  about  the  soft,  dark  pupils  of  its  eyes.  The 
strap  over  the  head  broke  with  the  fourth  pull ;  then 
the  horse  recoiled,  plunging  and  terrified,  into  the 
opposite  corner  of  the  stall. 

Simon  leaped  with  shattering  power  at  the  crea- 
ture's shoulders,  his  huge  arms  encircled  its  neck, 
his  shoulders  heaved,  and  he  half -threw  it  to  the 
floor.  Then,  as  it  staggered  to  rise,  his  heavy  fist 
flailed  against  its  neck.  Again  and  again  he  struck, 
and  in  the  half-darkness  of  the  stable  it  was  a  dread- 
ful thing  to  behold.  The  man's  fury,  always 
quickly  aroused,  was  upon  him;  his  brawny  form 
moved  with  the  agility  of  a  panther.  Even  Dave, 
whose  shallow  eyes  were  usually  wont  to  feast  on 
cruelty,  viewed  the  scene  with  some  alarm.  It 
was  n't  that  he  was  moved  by  the  agony  of  the  horse. 
But  he  did  remember  that  horses  cost  money,  and 
Simon  seemed  determined  to  kill  the  animal  before 
his  passion  was  spent. 

The  horse  cowered,  and  in  a  moment  more  it  was 
hard  to  remember  he  was  a  member  of  a  noble,  high- 
spirited  breed,  —  a  swift  runner,  brainy  as  a  dog,  a 
servant  faithful  and  worthy.  It  was  no  longer  easy 
to  think  of  him  as  a  creature  of  beauty,  —  and  there 
is  no  other  word  than  beauty  for  these  long-maned, 
long-tailed,  trim-lined  animals.  He  stood  quiet  at 
last,  his  head  hanging  low,  knees  bent,  eyes  curi- 
ously sorrowful  and  dark.  Simon  fastened  the 
broken  strap  about  his  neck,  gave  it  one  more  jerk 
that  almost  knocked  the  animal  off  his  feet,  then 
turned  back  to  Dave.  Except  for  a  higher  color  in 


The   Blood   Atonement        143 

cheeks,  darker  lights  in  his  eyes,  and  an  almost 
imperceptible  quickening  of  his  breathing,  it  did  not 
seem  as  if  he  had  moved. 

"  You  're  always  bringing  news,"  he  said. 

Dave  opened  his  eyes.  He  had  forgotten  his  own 
words  in  the  tumult  of  the  fight  he  had  just  watched, 
but  plainly  Simon  had  n't  forgotten.  He  opened 
his  mouth  to  speak. 

"Well,  what  is  it?  Out  with  it,"  his  brother 
urged.  "  If  it 's  as  important  as  some  of  the  other 
news  you  've  brought  don't  take  my  time." 

"  All  right,"  the  other  replied  suUenly.  "  You 
don't  have  to  hear  it.  But  I  'm  telling  you  it 's  of 
real  importance  this  time  —  and  sometime  you  '11 
find  out."  He  scowled  into  the  dark  face.  "  But 
suit  yourself." 

He  turned  as  if  to  go.  He  rather  thought  that 
Simon  would  call  him  back.  It  would  be,  in  a 
measure,  a  victory.  But  Simon  went  back  to  his  in- 
spection of  the  stalls. 

Dave  walked  clear  to  the  door,  then  turned. 
"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Simon,"  he  urged.  "  Listen  to 
what  I  have  to  tell  you.  Bruce  Folger  knows  where 
that  secret  agreement  is." 

For  once  in  his  life  Dave  got  a  response  of  suffi- 
cient emphasis  to  satisfy  him.  His  brother  whirled, 
his  whole  expression  undergoing  an  immediate  and 
startling  change.  If  there  was  one  emotion  that 
Dave  had  never  seen  on  Simon's  face  it  was  fear,  — 
and  he  did  n't  know  for  certain  that  he  saw  it  now. 
But  there  was  alarm  —  unmistakable  —  and  sur- 
prise too. 


144      The  Strength   of  the   Pines 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  he  demanded. 

Dave  exulted  inwardly.  His  brother's  response 
had  almost  made  up  for  the  evil  news  that  he 
brought.  For  Dave's  fortunes,  as  well  as  Simon's, 
depended  on  the  vast  fertile  tract  being  kept  in  the 
clan's  possession.  His  eyes  narrowed  ever  so 
slightly.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  as  far  as 
Dave  could  remember,  Simon  had  encountered  a 
situation  that  he  had  not  immediately  mastered. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  beginning  of  Simon's  downfall, 
which  meant  —  by  no  great  stretch  of  the  imagina- 
tion —  the  advancement  of  Dave.  But  in  another 
second  of  clear  thinking  Dave  knew  that  in  his 
brother's  strength  lay  his  own;  if  this  mighty  force 
at  the  head  of  the  clan  was  weakening,  no  hope  re- 
mained for  any  of  them.  His  own  face  grew  anx- 
ious. 

"  Out  with  it,"  Simon  stormed.  His  tone  was 
really  urgent  now,  not  insolent  as  usual.  "  Good 
Lord,  man,  don't  you  know  that  if  Bruce  gets  that 
down  to  the  settlements  before  the  thirtieth  of  next 
month  we  're  lost  —  and  nothing  in  this  world  can 
save  us?  We  can't  drive  him  off,  like  we  drove  the 
Rosses.  There  's  too  much  law  down  in  the  valleys. 
If  he  's  got  that  paper,  there  's  only  one  thing  to  do. 
Help  me  saddle  a  horse." 

1  Wait  a  minute.  I  did  n't  say  he  had  it.,  I  only 
said  he  knew  where  it  was.  He  's  still  an  hour  or 
two  walk  from  here,  toward  Little  River,  and  if  we 
have  to  wait  for  him  on  the  trail,  we  've  got  plenty  of 
time.  And  of  course  I  ain't  quite  sure  he  does  know 
where  it  is." 


The   Blood   Atonement        145 

Simon  smiled  mirthlessly.  "  The  news  is  begin- 
ning to  sound  like  the  rest  of  yours." 

"  Old  Hudson  is  dead,"  Dave  went  on.  "  And 
don't  look  at  me  —  I  did  n't  do  it.  I  wish  I  had, 
though,  first  off.  For  once  my  judgment  was 
better  than  yours.  The  Killer  got  him." 

"  Yes.     Go  on." 

"  I  was  with  him  when  it  happened.  My  gun  got 
jammed  so  I  could  n't  shoot." 

"Where  is  it  now?" 

Dave  scrambled  in  vain  for  a  story  to  explain  the 
loss  of  his  weapon  to  Bruce,  and  the  one  that  came 
out  at  last  did  n't  do  him  particular  credit.  "I  —  I 
threw  the  damn  thing  away.  Wish  I  had  n't  now, 
but  it  made  me  so  mad  by  jamming  —  it  was  a  fool 
trick.  Maybe  I  can  go  back  after  it  and  find  it." 

Simon  smiled  again.  '  Very  good  so  far,"  he 
commented. 

Dave  flushed.  "  Bruce  was  there  too  —  fact  is, 
creased  the  bear  —  and  the  last  minute  before  he 
died  Hudson  told  him  where  the  agreement  was 
hidden.  I  could  n't  hear  all  he  said  —  I  was  too 
far  away  —  but  I  heard  enough  to  think  that  he  told 
Bruce  the  hiding  place.  It  was  natural  Hudson 
would  know  it,  and  we  were  fools  for  not  asking  him 
about  it  long  ago." 

"  And  why  did  n't  you  get  that  information  away 
from  Bruce  with  your  gun?  " 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  the  thing  was  jammed?  If 
it  had  n't  of  been  for  that,  I  'd  done  something  more 
than  find  out  where  it  is.  I  'd  stopped  this  non- 
sense once  and  for  all,  and  let  a  hole  through  that 


146      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

tenderfoot  big  enough  to  see  through.  Then 
Miere  'd  never  be  any  more  trouble.  It 's  the  thing 
to  do  now." 

Simon  looked  at  his  brother's  face  with  some  won- 
der. More  crafty  and  cunning,  Dave  was  like  the 
coyote  in  that  he  did  n't  yield  so  quickly  to  fury  as 
that  gray  wolf,  his  brother.  But  when  it  did  come, 
it  seared  him.  It  had  come  now.  Simon  could  n't 
mistake  the  fact ;  he  saw  it  plain  in  the  glowing  eyes, 
the  clenched  hands,  the  drawn  lips.  Dave  was  re- 
membering the  pain  of  the  blow  Bruce  had  given 
him,  and  the  smart  of  the  words  that  had  preceded 
it. 

"  You  and  he  must  have  had  a  little  session  down 
there  by  the  creek,"  Simon  suggested  slowly,  "  when 
your  gun  was  jammed.  Of  course,  he  took  the  gun. 
What 's  the  use  of  trying  to  lie  to  me?  " 

"  He  did.     What  could  I  do?  " 

"  And  now  you  want  him  potted  —  from  am- 
bush." 

"  What 's  the  use  of  waiting?  Who  'd  know?  " 
The  two  men  stood  face  to  face  in  the  quiet  and 
deepening  dusk  of  the  barn ;  and  there  was  growing 
determination  on  each  face.  "  Every  day  our 
chance  is  less  and  less,"  Dave  went  on.  "  We  Ve 
been  thinking  we  're  safe,  but  if  he  knows  where  that 
agreement  is,  we  're  not  safe  at  all.  How  would 
you  like  to  get  booted  off  these  three  thousand  acres 
now,  just  after  we  Ve  all  got  attached  to  them?  To 
start  making  our  living  as  day  laborers  —  and 
maybe  face  a  hangin'  for  some  things  of  long  ago? 
With  this  land  behind  him,  he  'd  be  in  a  position  to 


The   Blood   Atonement        147 

pay  old  debts,  I  'm  telling  you.  We  're  not  secure, 
and  you  know  it.  The  law  does  n't  forget,  and  it 
does  n't  forgive.  We  've  been  fooling  away  our 
time  ever  since  we  knew  he  was  coming.  We  should 
have  met  him  on  the  trail  and  let  the  buzzards  talk  to 
him." 

"  Yes,"  Simon  echoed  in  a  strange  half -whisper. 
"  Let  the  buzzards  talk  to  him." 

Dave  took  fresh  heart  at  the  sound  of  that  voice. 
"  No  one  would  have  ever  knowed  it,"  he  went  on. 
"  No  one  would  ever  know  it  now.  They  'd  find  his 
bones,  some  time  maybe,  but  there  'd  be  no  one  to 
point  to.  They  'd  never  get  any  thing  against  us. 
Everybody  except  the  mountain  people  have  for- 
gotten about  this  affair.  Those  in  the  mountains 
are  too  scattered  and  few  to  take  any  part  in  it.  I 
tell  you  —  it 's  all  the  way,  or  no  way  at  all.  Tell 
me  to  wait  for  him  on  the  trail." 

'  Wait.     Wait  a  minute.     How  long  before  he 
will  come? " 

"  Any  time  now.  And  don't  postpone  this  mat- 
ter any  more.  We  're  men,  not  babies.  He  's  not 
a  fool  or  not  a  coward,  either.  He  's  got  his  old 
man's  blood  in  him  —  not  his  mother's  to  run  away. 
As  long  as  he  ain't  croaked,  all  we  've  done  so  far  is 
apt  to  come  to  nothing.  And  there  's  one  thing 
more.  He 's  going  to  take  the  blood-feud  up 
again." 

"  Lots  of  good  it  would  do  him.  One  against  a 
dozen." 

"  But  he  's  a  shot  —  I  saw  that  plain  enough  — 
and  how  'd  you  like  to  have  him  shoot  through  your 


148      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

windows  some  time?     Old  Elmira  and  Linda  have 
set  him  on,  and  he  's  hot  for  it." 

:t  I  wish  you  'd  got  that  old  heifer  when  you  got 
her  son,"  Simon  said.  He  still  spoke  calmly;  but 
it  was  plain  enough  that  Dave's  words  were  having 
the  desired  effect.  Dave  could  discern  this  fact  by 
certain  lights  and  expressions  about  the  pupils  of 
his  brother's  eyes,  signs  learned  and  remembered 
long  ago.  "  So  he  's  taken  up  the  blood-feud,  has 
he?  I  thought  I  gave  his  father  some  lessons  in  that 
a  long  time  since.  Well,  I  suppose  we  must  let  him 
have  his  way! " 

"  And  remember  too,"  Dave  urged,  "  what  you 
told  him  when  you  met  him  in  the  store.  You  said 
you  would  n't  warn  him  twice." 

"  I  remember."  The  two  men  were  silent,  but 
Dave  stood  no  longer  motionless.  The  motions  that 
he  made,  however,  were  not  discernible  in  the  grow- 
ing gloom  of  the  barn.  He  was  shivering  all  over 
with  malice  and  fury. 

'  Then  you  've  given  the  word?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  've  given  the  word,  but  I  '11  do  it  my  own  way. 
Listen,  Dave."  Simon  stood,  head  bent,  deep  in 
thought.  "  Could  you  arrange  to  have  Linda  and 
the  old  hag  out  of  the  house  when  Bruce  gets  back?  " 

"Yes  —  " 

"  We  've  got  to  work  this  thing  right.  We  can't 
operate  in  the  open  like  we  used  to.  This  man  has 
taken  up  the  blood- feud  —  but  the  thing  to  do  —  is 
to  let  him  come  to  us." 

"  But  he  won't  do  it.  He  '11  go  to  the  courts 
first." 


The   Blood   Atonement        149 

Simon's  face  grew  stern.  "  I  don't  want  any 
more  interruptions,  Dave.  I  mean  we  will  want  to 
give  the  impression  that  he  attacked  us  first  —  on  his 
own  free  will.  What  if  he  comes  into  our  house  — 
a  man  unknown  in  these  parts  —  and  something 
happens  to  him  there  —  in  the  dead  of  night?  It 
would  n't  look  so  bad  then,  would  it?  Besides  —  if 
we  got  him  here  —  before  the  clan,  we  might  be  able 
to  find  out  where  that  document  is.  At  least 
we  '11  have  him  here  where  everything  will  be  in  our 
favor.  First,  how  can  you  tell  when  he  's  going  to 
come?  " 

"  He  ought  to  be  here  very  soon.  The  moon  's 
bright  and  I  can  get  up  on  the  ridge  and  see  his 
shadow  through  your  field  glasses  when  he  crosses 
the  big  south  pasture.  That  will  give  me  a  full 
half -hour  before  he  comes." 

"  It 's  enough.  I  'm  ready  to  give  you  your  or- 
ders now.  They  are  —  just  to  use  your  head,  and 
on  some  pretext  get  those  two  women  out  of  the 
house  so  that  Bruce  can't  find  them  when  he  returns. 
Don't  let  them  come  back  for  an  hour,  if  you  can 
help  it.  If  it  works  —  all  right.  If  it  doesn't, 
we  '11  use  more  direct  measures.  I  '11  tend  to  the 
rest." 

He  strode  to  the  wall  and  took  down  a  saddle 
from  the  hook.  Quickly  he  threw  it  over  the  back 
of  one  of  the  cow  ponies,  the  animal  that  he  had 
punished.  He  put  the  bridle  in  Dave's  hand. 
"  Stop  at  the  house  for  the  glasses,  then  ride  to 
the  ridge  at  once,"  he  ordered.  "  Then  keep 
watch." 


150      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

Without  words  Dave  led  the  horse  through  the 
door  and  swung  on  to  its  back.  In  an  instant  the 
wild  folk,  in  the  fringe  of  forest  beyond,  paused  in 
their  night  occupations  to  listen  to  the  sound  of 
hoof  beats  on  the  turf.  Then  Simon  slowly  saddled 
Ms  own  horse. 


XIX 

THE  day  was  quite  dead  when  Dave  Turner 
reached  his  post  on  top  of  the  ridge.  The  gray  of 
twilight  had  passed,  the  forest  was  lost  in  darkness, 
the  stars  were  all  out.  The  only  vestige  of  daylight 
that  remained  was  a  pale,  red  glow  over  the  West- 
ern mountains,  —  and  this  was  more  like  red  flowers 
that  had  been  placed  on  its  grave  in  remembrance. 

Fortunately,  the  moon  rose  early.  Otherwise 
Dave's  watch  would  have  been  in  vain.  The  soft 
light  wrought  strange  miracles  in  the  forest:  bath- 
ing the  tree  tops  in  silver,  laying  wonderful  cobweb 
tapestries  between  the  trunks,  upsetting  the  whole 
perspective  as  to  distance  and  contour.  Dave 
did  n't  have  long  to  wait.  At  the  end  fcf  a  half -hour 
he  saw,  through  the  field  glasses,  the  wavering  of  a 
strange  black  shadow  on  the  distant  meadow.  Only 
the  vivid  quality  of  the  full  moon  enabled  him  to  see 
it  at  all.  ^ 

He  tried  to  get  a  better  focus.  It  might  be  just 
the  shadow  of  deer,  come  to  browse  on  the  parched 
grass.  Dave  felt  a  little  tremor  of  excitement  at 
the  thought  that  if  it  were  not  Bruce,  it  was  more 
likely  the  last  of  the  grizzlies,  the  Killer.  The  pre- 
vious night  the  gray  forest  king  had  made  an  ex- 
cursion into  Simon's  pastures  and  had  killed  a  year- 
ling calf ;  in  all  probability  he  would  return  to-night 
to  finish  his  feast.  In  fact,  this  night  would  in  all 


152      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

probability  see  the  end  of  the  Killer.  Some  one  of 
the  Turners  would  wait  for  him,  with  a  loaded  rifle, 
in  a  safe  ambush. 

But  it  was  n't  the  Killer,  after  all.  It  was  before 
his  time ;  besides,  the  shadow  was  too  slender  to  be 
that  of  the  huge  bear.  Dave  Turner  watched  a  mo- 
ment longer,  so  that  there  could  be  no  possibility  of 
a  mistake.  Bruce  was  returning;  he  was  little  more 
than  a  half -hour's  walk  from  Linda's  home. 

Turner  swung  on  his  horse,  then  lashed  the  ani- 
mal into  a  gallop.  Less  than  five  minutes  later  he 
drew  up  to  a  halt  beneath  the  Sentinel  Pine,  almost 
a  mile  distant.  For  the  first  time,  Dave  began  to 
move  cautiously. 

It  would  complicate  matters  if  the  two  women 
had  already  gone  to  bed.  The  hour  was  early  — 
not  yet  nine  —  but  the  fall  of  darkness  is  often  the 
going-to-bed  time  of  the  mountain  people.  It  is 
warmer  there  and  safer;  and  the  expense  of  candles 
is  lessened.  Incidentally,  it  is  the  natural  course 
for  the  human  breed,  —  to  bed  at  nightfall  and  up 
at  dawn;  and  only  distortion  of  nature  can  change 
the  habit.  It  is  doubtful  if  even  the  earliest  men 
—  those  curious,  long-armed,  stiff -thumbed,  heavy- 
jowled  forefathers  far  remote  —  were  ever  night 
hunters.  Like  the  hawks  and  most  of  the  other 
birds  of  prey  they  were  content  to  leave  the  game 
trails  to  the  beasts  at  night.  As  life  in  the  moun- 
tains gets  down  to  a  primitive  basis,  most  of  the  hill 
people  soon  fall  into  this  natural  course.  But  to- 
night Linda  and  old  Elmira  were  sitting  up,  waiting 
for  Bruce's  return. 


The   Blood  Atonement        153 

A  candle  flame  flickered  at  the  window.  Dave 
went  up  to  the  door  and  knocked. 

"  Who  's  there?  "  Elmira  called.  It  was  a  habit 
learned  in  the  dreadful  days  of  twenty  years  ago, 
not  to  open  a  door  without  at  least  some  knowledge 
of  who  stood  without.  A  lighted  doorway  sets  off 
a  target  almost  as  well  as  a  field  of  white  sets  off  a 
black  bull's-eye. 

Dave  knew  that  truth  was  the  proper  course. 
"  Dave  Turner,"  he  replied. 

A  long  second  of  heavy,  strange  silence  ensued. 
Then  the  woman  spoke  again.  There  was  a  new 
note  in  her  voice,  a  curious  hoarseness,  but  at  the 
same  time  a  sense  of  exultation  and  excitement. 
But  Dave  did  n't  notice  it.  Perhaps  the  oaken  door 
that  the  voice  came  through  stripped  away  all  the 
overtones;  possibly  his  own  perceptions  were  too 
blunt  to  receive  it.  He  might,  however,  have  been 
interested  in  the  singular  look  of  wonder  that  flashed 
over  Linda's  face  as  she  stared  at  her  aged  aunt. 
Linda  was  not  thinking  of  Dave.  She  had  forgot- 
ten that  he  stood  outside.  His  visit  was  the  last 
thing  that  either  of  them  expected  —  except,  per- 
haps, on  some  such  deadly  business  as  the  clan  had 
come  years  before  —  yet  she  found  no  space  in  her 
thought  for  him.  Her  whole  attention  was  seized 
and  held  by  the  unfamiliar  note  in  her  aunt's  voice, 
and  a  strange  drawing  of  the  woman's  features  that 
the  closed  door  prevented  Dave  from  seeing.  It 
was  a  look  almost  of  rapture,  hardly  to  be  expected 
in  the  presence  of  an  enemy.  The  dim  eyes  seemed 
to  glow  in  the  shadows.  It  was  the  look  of  one  who 


154      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

had  wandered  steep  and  unknown  trails  for  un- 
counted years  and  sees  the  distant  lights  of  his 
home  at  last. 

She  got  up  from  her  chair  and  moved  over  to  the 
little  pack  she  had  carried  on  her  back  when  she  had 
walked  up  from  her  cabin.  Linda  still  gazed  at 
her  in  growing  wonder.  The  long  years  seemed  to 
have  fallen  away  from  her;  she  slipped  across  the 
uncarpeted  floor  with  the  agility  and  silence  of  a 
tiger.  She  always  had  given  the  impression  of  la- 
tent power,  but  never  so  much  as  now.  She  took 
some  little  object  from  the  bag  and  slipped  it  next 
to  her  withered  and  scrawny  breast. 

"  What  do  you  want? "  she  called  out  into  the 
gloom. 

Dave  had  been  getting  a  little  restless  in  the  si- 
lence; but  the  voice  reassured  him.  "  I  '11  tell  you 
when  you  open  the  door.  It 's  something  about 
Bruce." 

Linda  remembered  him  then.  She  leaped  to  the 
door  and  flung  it  wide.  She  saw  the  stars  without, 
the  dark  fringe  of  pines  against  the  sky  line  be- 
hind. She  felt  the  wind  and  the  cool  breath  of  the 
darkness.  But  most  of  all  she  saw  the  cunning, 
sharp-featured  face  of  Dave  Turner,  with  the 
candlelight  upon  him.  The  yellow  beams  were  in 
his  eyes  too.  They  seemed  full  of  guttering  lights. 

The  few  times  that  Linda  had  talked  to  Dave  she 
had  always  felt  uneasy  beneath  his  speculative  gaze. 
The  same  sensation  swept  over  her  now.  She  knew 
perfectly  what  she  would  have  had  to  expect,  long 
since,  from  this  man,  were  it  not  that  he  had  lived 


The   Blood   Atonement        155 

in  fear  of  his  brother  Simon.  The  mighty  leader  of 
the  clan  had  set  a  barrier  around  her  as  far  as  per- 
sonal attentions  went,  —  and  his  reasons  were  ob- 
vious. The  mountain  girls  do  not  usually  attain 
her  perfection  of  form  and  face ;  his  desire  for  her 
was  as  jealous  as  it  was  intense  and  real.  This 
dark-hearted  man  of  great  and  terrible  emotions 
did  not  only  know  how  to  hate.  In  his  own  savage 
way  he  fould  love  too.  Linda  hated  and  feared 
him,  but  the  emotion  was  wholly  different  from  the 
dread  and  abhorrence  with  which  she  regarded 
Dave.  "  What  about  Bruce?  "  she  demanded. 

Dave  leered.  "  Do  you  want  to  see  him?  He  's 
lying  —  up  here  on  the  hill." 

The  tone  was  knowing,  edged  with  cruelty;  and 
it  had  the  desired  effect.  The  color  swept  from  the 
girl's  face.  In  a  single  fraction  of  an  instant  it 
showed  stark  white  in  the  candlelight. 

There  was  an  instant's  sensation  of  terrible  cold. 
But  her  voice  was  hard  and  lifeless  when  she  spoke. 

"You  mean  you've  killed  him?"  she  asked 
simply. 

"  We  ain't  killed  him.  We  Ve  just  been  teach- 
ing him  a  lesson,"  Dave  explained.  "  Simon 
warned  him  not  to  come  up  —  and  we  've  had  to 
talk  to  him  a  little  —  with  fists  and  heels." 

Linda  cried  out  then,  one  agonized  syllable. 
She  knew  what  fists  and  heels  could  do  in  the  fights 
between  the  mountain  men.  They  are  as  much 
weapons  of  torture  as  the  claws  and  fangs  of  the 
Killer.  She  had  an  instant's  dread  picture  of  this 
strong  man  of  hers  lying  maimed  and  broken,  a  bat- 


156      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

tered,  whimpering,  ineffective  thing  in  the  moon- 
light of  some  distant  hillside.  The  vision  brought 
knowledge  to  her.  Even  more  clearly  than  in  the 
second  of  their  kiss,  before  he  had  gone  to  see  Hud- 
son, she  realized  what  an  immutable  part  of  her  he 
was.  She  gazed  with  growing  horror  at  Dave's 
leering  face.  '  Where  is  he?  "  she  asked.  She  re- 
membered, with  singular  steadfastness,  the  pistol 
she  had  concealed  in  her  own  room. 

"I  '11  show  you.  If  you  want  to  get  him  in 
you  'd  better  bring  the  old  hag  with  you.  It  '11  take 
two  of  you  to  carry  him." 

"  I  '11  come,"  the  old  woman  said  from  across  the 
shadowed  room.  She  spoke  with  a  curious  breath- 
lessness.  "  I  '11  go  at  once." 

TJie  door  closed  behind  the  three  of  them,  and 
they  went  out  into  the  moonlit  forest.  Dave 
walked  first.  There  was  an  unlooked-for  eagerness 
in  his  motions,  but  Linda  thought  that  she  under- 
stood it.  It  was  wholly  characteristic  of  him  that 
he  should  find  a  degenerate  rapture  in  showing  these 
two  women  the  terrible  handiwork  of  the  Turners. 
He  rejoiced  in  just  this  sort  of  cruelty.  She  had 
no  suspicion  that  this  excursion  was  only  a  pretext 
to  get  the  two  women  away  from  the  house,  and  that 
his  eagerness  arose  from  deeper  causes.  It  was 
true  that  Dave  exulted  in  the  work,  and  strangely 
the  fact  that  it  was  part  of  the  plot  against  Bruce 
had  been  almost  forgotten  in  the  face  of  a  greater 
emotion.  He  was  alone  in  the  darkness  with  Linda 
-  except  of  course  for  a  helpless  old  woman  —  and 
the  command  of  Simon  in  regard  to  his  attitude  to- 


The   Blood  Atonement        157 

ward  her  seemed  suddenly  dim  and  far  away.  He 
led  them  over  a  hill,  into  the  deeper  forest. 

He  walked  swiftly,  eagerly ;  the  two  women  could 
hardly  keep  pace  with  him.  He  left  the  dim  trail 
and  skirted  about  the  thickets.  No  cry  for  help 
could  carry  from  this  lonely  place.  No  watchman 
on  a  hill  could  see  what  transpired  in  the  heavy 
coverts. 

So  intent  was  he  that  he  quite  failed  to  observe 
a  singular  little  signal  between  old  Elmira  and 
Linda.  The  woman  half  turned  about,  giving  the 
girl  an  instant's  glimpse  of  something  that  she  trans- 
ferred from  her  breast  to  her  sleeve.  It  was  slender 
and  of  steel,  and  it  caught  the  moonlight  on  its  shin- 
ing surface. 

The  girl's  eyes  glittered  when  she  beheld  it.  She 
nodded,  scarcely  perceptibly,  and  the  strange  file 
plunged  deeper  into  the  shadows. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  Dave  drew  up  to  a  halt  in 
a  little  patch  of  moonlight,  surrounded  by  a  wall  of 
low  trees  and  brush. 

"  There  's  more  than  one  way  to  make  a  date  for 
a  walk  with  a  pretty  girl,"  he  said. 

The  girl  stared  coldly  into  his  eyes.  "  What  do 
you  mean?  "  she  asked. 

The  man  laughed  harshly.  "  I  mean  that  Bruce 
ain't  got  back  yet  —  he  's  still  on  the  other  side  of 
Little  River,  for  all  I  know  —  " 

"  Then  why  did  you  bring  us  here? " 

."Just  to  be  sociable,"  Dave  returned.  "I'll 
tell  you,  Linda.  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you.  I  ain't 
been  in  favor  of  a  lot  of  things  Simon's  been  doing 


158      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

• —  to  you  and  your  people.     I  thought  maybe  you 
and  I  would  like  to  be  —  friends." 

No  one  could  mistake  the  emotion  behind  the 
strained  tone,  the  peculiar  languor  in  the  furtive 
eyes.  The  girl  drew  back,  shuddering.  "  I  'm  go- 
ing back,"  she  told  him. 

'  Wait.  I  '11  take  you  back  soon.  Let 's  have 
a  kiss  and  make  friends.  The  old  lady  won't 
look  —  " 

He  laughed  again,  a  hoarse  sound  that  rang  far 
through  the  silences.  He  moved  toward  her,  hands 
reaching.  She  backed  away.  Then  she  half- 
tripped  over  an  outstretched  root. 

The  next  instant  she  was  in  his  arms,  struggling 
against  their  steel.  She  didn't  waste  words  in 
pleading.  A  sob  caught  at  her  throat,  and  she 
fought  with  all  her  strength  against  the  drawn, 
nearing  face.  She  had  forgotten  Elmira;  in  this 
dreadful  moment  of  terror  and  danger  the  old 
woman's  broken  strength  seemed  too  little  to  be  of 
aid.  And  Dave  thought  her  as  helpless  to  op- 
pose him  as  the  tall  pines  that  watched  from  above 
them. 

His  wild  laughter  obscured  the  single  sound  that 
she  made,  a  strange  cry  that  seemed  lacking  in  all 
human  quality.  Rather  it  was  such  a  sound  as  a 
puma  utters  as  it  leaps  upon  its  prey.  It  was  the 
articulation  of  a  whole  life  of  hatred  that  had  come 
to  a  crisis  at  last,  —  of  deadly  and  terrible  triumph 
after  a  whole  decade  of  waiting.  If  Dave  had  dis- 
cerned that  cry  in  time  he  would  have  hurled  Linda 
from  his  arms  to  leap  into  a  position  of  defense. 


The   Blood  Atonement        159 

The  desire  for  women  in  men  goes  down  to  the  roots 
of  the  world,  but  self-preservation  is  a  deeper  in- 
stinct still. 

But  he  did  n't  hear  it  in  time.  Elmira  had  not 
struck  with  her  knife.  The  distance  was  too  far 
for  that.  But  she  swung  her  cane  with  all  her  force. 
The  blow  caught  the  man  at  the  temple,  his  arms 
fell  away  from  the  girl's  body,  he  staggered  gro- 
tesquely in  the  carpet  of  pine  needles.  Then  he  fell 
face  downward. 

"  His  belt,  quick!  "  the  woman  cried.  No  longer 
was  her  voice  that  of  decrepit  age.  The  girl  strug- 
gled with  herself,  wrenched  back  her  self-control, 
and  leaped  to  obey  her  aunt.  They  snatched  the 
man's  belt  from  about  his  waist,  and  the  women 
locked  it  swiftly  about  his  ankles.  With  strong, 
hard  hands  they  drew  his  wrists  back  of  him  and 
tied  them  tight  with  the  long  bandana  handker- 
chief he  wore  about  his  neck.  They  worked  almost 
in  silence,  with  incredible  rapidity  and  deftness. 

The  man  was  waking  now,  stirring  in  his  uncon- 
sciousness, and  swiftly  the  old  woman  cut  the  buck- 
skin thongs  from  his  tall  logging  boots.  These  also 
she  twisted  about  the  wrists,  knotting  them  again 
and  again,  and  pulling  them  so  tight  they  were  al- 
most buried  in  the  lean  flesh.  Then  they  turned 
him  face  upward  to  the  moon. 

The  two  women  stood  an  instant,  breathing  hard. 

*  What  now?  "     Linda  asked.     And  a  shiver  of 

awe  went  over  her  at  the  sight  of  the  woman's  face. 

"  Nothing  more,  Linda,"  she  answered,  in  a  dis- 
tant voice.  "  Leave  Dave  Turner  to  me." 


160      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

It  was  a  strange  picture.  Womanhood  —  the 
softness  and  tenderness  which  men  have  learned  to 
associate  with  the  name  —  seemed  fallen  away  from 
Linda  and  Elmira.  They  were  only  avengers,  — 
like  the  she-bear  that  fights  for  her  cubs  or  the  she- 
wolf  that  guards  the  lair.  There  was  no  more 
mercy  in  them  than  in  the  females  of  the  lower 
species.  The  moon  flooded  the  place  with  silver, 
the  pines  were  dark  and  impassive  as  ever  above 
them. 

Dave  wakened.  They  saw  him  stir.  They 
watched  him  try  to  draw  his  arms  from  behind  him. 
It  was  just  a  faint,  little-understanding  pull  at  first. 
Then  he  wrenched  and  tugged  with  all  his  strength, 
flopping  strangely  in  the  dirt.  The  effort  increased 
until  it  was  some  way  suggestive  of  an  animal  in  the 
death  struggle,  —  a  fur  bearer  dying  in  the  trap. 

Terror  was  upon  him.  It  was  in  his  wild  eyes 
and  his  moonlit  face;  it  was  in  the  desperation  and 
frenzy  of  his  struggles.  And  the  two  women  saw 
it  and  smiled  into  each  other's  eyes. 

Slowly  his  efforts  ceased.  He  lay  still  in  the 
pine  needles.  He  turned  his  head,  first  toward 
Linda,  then  to  the  inscrutable,  dark  face  of  the  old 
woman.  As  understanding  came  to  him,  the  cold 
drops  emerged  upon  his  swarthy  skin. 

"Good  God!"  he  asked.  "What  are  you  go- 
ing to  do?  " 

"  I  'm  going  back,"  Linda  answered.  "  You  had 
some  other  purpose  in  bringing  me  out  here  —  or 
you  would  n't  have  brought  Elmira,  too.  I  'm  go- 
ing back  to  wait  for  Bruce." 


The   Blood  Atonement        161 

"  And  you  and  I  will  linger  here,"  Elmira  told 
him.  "  We  have  many  things  to  say  to  each  other. 
We  have  many  things  to  do.  About  my  Abner  — 
there  are  many  things  you  '11  want  to  hear  of  him." 

The  last  vestige  of  the  man's  spirit  broke  beneath 
the  words.  Abner  had  been  old  Elmira's  son,  —  a 
youth  who  had  laughed  often,  and  the  one  hope  of 
the  old  woman's  declining  years.  And  he  had  fallen 
before  Dave's  ambush  in  a  half-forgotten  fight  of 
long  years  before. 

The  man  shivered  in  his  bonds.  Linda  turned  to 
go.  The  silence  of  the  wilderness  deepened  about 
them.  "  Oh,  Linda,  Linda,"  the  man  called. 
"  Don't  leave  me.  Don't  leave  me  here  with  her!  " 
he  pleaded.  "  Please  —  please  don't  leave  me  in 
this  devil's  power.  Make  her  let  me  go." 

But  Linda  didn't  seem  to  hear.  The  brush 
crackled  and  rustled;  and  the  two  —  this  dark- 
hearted  man  and  the  avenger  —  were  left  together. 


XX 

THE  homeward  journey  over  the  ridges  had 
meant  only  pleasure  to  Bruce.  Every  hour  of  it 
had  brought  a  deeper  and  more  intimate  knowledge 
of  the  wilderness.  The  days  had  been  full  of  little, 
nerve-tingling  adventures,  and  the  nights  full  of 
peace.  And  beyond  all  these,  there  was  the  hope  of 
seeing  Linda  again  at  the  end  of  the  trail. 

Thoughts  of  her  hardly  ever  left  him  throughout 
the  long  tramp.  She  had  more  than  fulfilled  every 
expectation.  It  was  true  that  he  had  found  no  one 
of  his  own  kin,  as  he  had  hoped ;  but  the  fact  opened 
up  new  possibilities  that  would  have  been  otherwise 
forbidden. 

It  was  strange  how  he  remembered  her  kiss.  He 
had  known  other  kisses  in  his  days  —  being  a  purely 
rational  and  healthy  young  man  —  but  there  had 
been  nothing  of  immortality  about  them.  Their 
warmth  had  died  quickly,  and  they  had  been  forgot- 
ten. They  were  just  delights  of  moonlight  nights 
and  nothing  more.  But  he  would  wake  up  from 
his  dreams  at  night  to  feel  Linda's  kiss  still  upon 
his  lips.  To  recall  it  brought  a  strange  tenderness, 
—  a  softening  of  all  the  hard  outlines  of  his  picture 
of  life.  It  changed  his  viewpoint;  it  brought  him  a 
knowledge  of  a  joy  and  a  gentleness  that  could  exist 
even  in  this  stern  world  of  wilderness  and  pines. 


The   Blood  Atonement        163 

With  her  face  lingering  before  his  eyes,  the  ridges 
themselves  seemed  less  stern  and  forbidding;  there 
were  softer  messages  in  the  wind's  breath;  the 
drama  of  the  wild  that  went  on  about  him  seemed 
less  remorseless  and  cruel. 

He  remembered  the  touch  of  her  hands.  They 
had  been  so  cool,  so  gentle.  He  remembered  the 
changing  lights  in  her  dark  eyes.  Life  had  opened 
up  new  vistas  to  him.  Instead  of  a  stern  battle- 
ground, he  began  to  realize  that  it  had  a  softer, 
gentler,  kinder  side,  —  a  place  where  there  could  be 
love  as  well  as  hatred,  peace  as  well  as  battle,  cheery 
homes  and  firesides  and  pleasant  ways  and  laughter 
instead  of  cold  ways  and  lonely  trails  and  empty 
hearts  and  grim  thoughts.  Perhaps,  if  all  went 
well,  tranquillity  might  come  to  him  after  all.  Per- 
haps he  might  even  know  the  tranquil  spirit  of  the 
pines. 

These  were  mating  days.  It  was  true  that  the 
rutting  season  had  not,  in  reality,  commenced.  The 
wolf  pack  had  not  yet  gathered,  and  would  not  un- 
til after  the  heavy  frosts.  But  the  bucks  had  begun 
to  rub  the  velvet  from  their  horns  so  that  they  would 
be  hard  and  sharp  for  the  fights  to  come.  And 
these  would  be  savage  battles  —  with  death  at  the 
end  of  many  of  them.  But  perhaps  the  joys  that 
would  follow  —  the  roving,  mating  days  with  the 
does  —  would  more  than  make  up  for  their  pain. 
The  trim  females  were  seen  less  often  with  their 
fawns ;  and  they  seemed  strangely  restless  and  trem- 
ulous, perhaps  wondering  what  fortune  the  fall 
would  have  for  them  in  the  way  of  a  mate. 


164      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

The  thought  gave  Bruce  pleasure.  He  could 
picture  the  deer  herd  in  the  fall,  —  the  proud  buck 
in  the  lead,  ready  to  fight  all  contenders,  his  harem 
of  does,  and  what  fawns  and  young  bucks  he  per- 
mitted to  follow  him.  They  would  make  stealing 
journeys  down  to  the  foothills  to  avoid  the  snow, 
and  all  manner  of  pleasures  would  be  theirs  in  the 
gentler  temperatures  of  the  lowlands.  They  would 
know  crisp  dawns  and  breathless  nights,  long  run- 
nings into  the  valleys,  and  to  the  does  the  realiza- 
tion of  motherhood  when  the  spring  broke. 

But  aside  from  his  contemplations  of  Linda,  the 
long  tramp  had  many  delights  for  him.  He  re- 
joiced in  every  manifestation  of  the  wild  life  about 
him,  whether  it  was  a  bushy-tailed  old  gray  squirrel, 
watching  him  from  a  tree  limb,  a  magpie  trying  its 
best  to  insult  him,  or  the  fleeting  glimpse  of  a  deer 
in  the  coverts.  Once  he  saw  the  black  form  of 
Ashur  the  bear,  mumbling  and  grunting  as  he 
searched  under  rotten  logs  for  grubs.  But  he 
did  n't  see  the  Killer  again.  He  did  n't  particularly 
care  to  do  so. 

He  kept  his  rifle  ready  during  the  day  for  game, 
but  he  shot  only  what  he  needed.  He  did  not  at- 
tempt to  kill  the  deer.  He  knew  that  he  would  have 
no  opportunity  to  care  for  the  meat.  But  he  did, 
occasionally,  shoot  the  head  off  a  cock-grouse  at 
close  range,  and  no  chef  of  Paris  could  offer  a  more 
tempting  dish  than  its  flesh,  rolled  in  flour  and 
served  up,  fried  brown,  in  bacon  grease.  It  was 
mostly  white  meat,  exceedingly  tender,  yet  with  the 
zest  of  wild  game.  But  he  dined  on  bacon  exclu- 


The   Blood  Atonement        165 

sively  one  night  because,  after  many  misses  at 
grouse,  he  declined  to  take  the  life  of  a  gray  squir- 
rel that  had  perched  in  an  oak  tree  above  the  trail. 
Someway,  it  seemed  to  be  getting  too  much  pleasure 
out  of  life  for  him  to  blast  it  with  a  rifle  shot.  A 
squirrel  has  only  a  few  ounces  of  flesh,  and  the  woods 
without  them  would  be  dull  and  inane  indeed.  Be- 
sides, they  were  bright-eyed,  companionable  people 
—  dwellers  of  the  wilderness  even  as  Bruce  —  and 
their  personality  had  already  endeared  itself  to 
him. 

Once  he  startled  a  fawn  almost  out  of  its  wits 
when  he  came  upon  it  suddenly  in  a  bend  in  the  trail, 
and  he  shouted  with  delight  as  it  bounded  awk- 
wardly away.  Once  a  porcupine  rattled  its  quills 
at  him  and  tried  to  seem  very  ferocious.  But  it  was 
all  the  most  palpable  of  bluffs,  for  Urson,  while 
particularly  adept  at  defense,  has  no  powers  of  of- 
fense whatever.  He  cannot  move  quickly.  He 
can't  shoot  his  spines,  as  the  story-books  say.  He 
can  only  sit  on  the  ground  and  erect  them  into  a 
sort  of  suit  of  armor  to  repel  attack.  But  Bruce 
knew  enough  not  to  attempt  to  stroke  the  creature. 
If  he  had  done  so,  he  would  have  spent  the  re- 
mainder of  the  season  pulling  out  spines  from  the 
soft  flesh  of  his  hand. 

Urson  was  a  patient,  stupid,  guileless  creature, 
and  he  and  Bruce  had  a  strange  communion  to- 
gether as  they  stood  face  to  face  on  the  trail. 
"  You  Ve  got  the  right  idea,"  Bruce  told  him.  "  To 
erect  a  wall  around  you  and  let  'em  yell  outside 
without  giving  them  a  thought.  To  stand  firm,  not 


1 66      The   Strength   of  the    Pines 

to  take  part.  You  're  a  true  son  of  the  pines,  Ur- 
son.  Now  let  me  past." 

But  the  idea  was  furthest  from  Urson's  mind. 
He  sat  firm  on  the  trail,  hunched  into  a  spiny  ball. 
Instead  of  killing  him  with  his  rifle  butt,  as  Dave 
would  have  done,  Bruce  laughed  good-naturedly 
and  went  around  him. 

Both  days  of  the  journey  home  he  wakened 
sharply  at  dawn.  The  cool,  morning  hours  were 
the  best  for  travel.  He  would  follow  down  the  nar- 
row, brown  trail,  —  now  through  a  heavy  covert 
that  rustled  as  the  wild  creatures  sped  from  his  path, 
now  up  a  long  ridge,  now  down  into  a  still,  dark 
glen,  and  sometimes  into  a  strange,  bleak  place 
where  the  forest  fire  had  swept.  Every  foot  was  a 
delight  to  him. 

He  was  of  naturally  strong  physique,  and  al- 
though the  days  fatigued  him  unmercifully,  he  al- 
ways wakened  refreshed  in  the  dawn.  At  noon  he 
would  stop  to  lunch,  eating  a  few  pieces  of  jerkey 
and  frying  a  single  flapjack  in  his  skillet.  He 
learned  how  to  eff ect  it  quickly,  first  letting  his  fire 
burn  down  to  coals.  And  usually,  during  the  noon 
rest,  he  would  practice  with  his  rifle. 

He  knew  that  if  he  were  to  fight  the  Turners, 
skill  with  a  rifle  was  an  absolute  necessity ;  such  skill 
as  would  have  felled  the  grizzly  with  one  shot  in- 
stead of  administering  merely  a  flesh  wound,  accu- 
racy to  take  off  the  head  of  a  grouse  at  fifty  yards ; 
and  at  the  same  time,  an  ability  to  swing  and  aim 
the  weapon  in  the  shortest  possible  space  of  time. 
The  only  thing  that  retarded  him  was  the  realiza- 


The   Blood  Atonement        167 

tion  that  he  must  not  waste  too  many  cartridges. 
Elrnira  had  brought  him  only  a  small  supply. 

He  would  walk  all  afternoon  —  going  somewhat 
easier  and  resting  more  often  than  in  the  morning; 
and  these  were  the  times  that  he  appreciated  a  frag- 
ment of  jerked  venison.  He  would  halt  just  before 
nightfall  and  make  his  camp. 

The  first  work  was  usually  to  strip  a  young  fir 
tree  of  its  young,  slender  branches.  These,  accord- 
ing to  Linda's  instructions,  were  laid  on  the  ground, 
their  stalks  overlapping,  and  in  a  remarkably  few 
minutes  he  could  construct  a  bed  as  comfortable  as 
a  hair  mattress.  It  was  true  that  the  work  always 
came  at  an  hour  when  most  of  all  he  wanted  food 
and  rest,  but  he  knew  that  a  restless  night  means 
quick  fatigue  the  next  day.  Then  he  would  clean 
his  game  and  build  his  fire  and  cook  his  evening  meal. 
Simple  food  had  never  tasted  so  good  to  him  before. 
Bacon  grease  was  his  only  flavor,  but  it  had  a  zest 
that  all  the  sauces  and  dressings  of  France  could  not 
approach.  The  jerkey  was  crisp  and  nutty;  his 
flapjacks  went  directly  to  the  spot  where  he  desired 
them  to  go. 

But  the  best  hour  of  all  was  after  his  meal,  as  he 
sat  in  the  growing  shadows  with  his  pipe.  It  was 
always  an  hour  of  calm.  The  little,  breathless 
noises  of  the  wild  people  in  the  thickets ;  the  gophers, 
to  whose  half  blind  eyes — used  to  the  darkness  of 
their  underground  passages  —  the  firelight  was  al- 
most blinding;  the  chipmunks,  and  even  the  larger 
creatures  came  clearest  to  him  then  and  told  him 
more.  But  they  did  n't  frighten  him.  Ordinarily, 


1 68       The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

he  knew,  the  forest  creatures  of  the  Southern  Ore- 
gon mountains  mean  and  do  no  harm  to  lonely 
campers.  Nevertheless,  he  kept  fairly  accurate 
track  of  his  rifle.  He  had  enough  memory  of  the 
charge  of  the  Killer  to  wish  to  do  that.  And  he 
thought  with  some  pleasure  that  he  had  a  reserve  ar- 
senal, —  Dave's  thirty- thirty  with  five  shells  in  its 
magazine. 

At  this  hour  he  felt  the  spirit  of  the  pines  as 
never  before.  He  knew  their  great,  brooding  sor- 
row, their  infinite  wisdom,  their  inexpressible  aloof- 
ness with  which  they  kept  watch  over  the  wilder- 
ness. The  smoke  would  drift  about  him  in  sooth- 
ing clouds ;  the  glow  of  the  coals  was  red  and  warm 
over  him.  He  could  think  then.  Life  revealed 
some  of  its  lesser  mysteries  to  him.  And  he  began 
to  glimpse  the  distant  gleam  of  even  greater  truths, 
and  sometimes  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  almost 
catch  and  hold  them.  Always  it  was  some  message 
that  the  pines  were  trying  to  tell  him,  —  partly  in 
words  they  made  when  their  limbs  rubbed  together, 
partly  in  the  nature  of  a  great  allegory  of  which 
their  dark,  impassive  forms  were  the  symbols.  If 
he  could  only  see  clearly !  But  it  seemed  to  him  that 
passion  blinded  his  eyes. 

'  They  talk  only  to  the  stars,"  Linda  had  said 
once  of  the  pines.  But  he  had  no  illusions  about 
this  talk  of  theirs.  It  was  greater,  more  fraught 
with  wisdom,  than  anything  men  might  say  together 
below  them.  He  could  imagine  them  telling  high 
secrets  that  he  himself  could  discern  but  dimly  and 
could  hardly  understand.  More  and  more  he  real- 


The  Blood  Atonement        169 

ized  that  the  pines,  like  the  stars,  were  living  sym- 
bols of  great  powers  who  lived  above  the  world, 
powers  that  would  speak  to  men  if  they  would  but 
listen  long  and  patiently  enough,  and  in  whose  creed 
lay  happiness. 

When  the  pipe  was  out  he  would  go  to  his  fra- 
grant bed.  The  night  hours  would  pass  in  a  breath. 
And  he  would  rise  and  go  on  in  the  crisp  dawns. 

The  last  afternoon  he  traveled  hard.  He  wanted 
to  reach  Linda's  house  before  nightfall.  But  the 
trail  was  too  long  for  that.  The  twilight  fell,  to 
find  him  still  a  weary  two  miles  distant.  And  the 
way  was  quite  dark  when  he  plunged  into  the  south 
pasture  of  the  Ross  estates. 

Half  an  hour  later  he  was  beneath  the  Sentinel 
Pine.  He  wondered  why  Linda  was  not  waiting 
beneath  it;  in  his  fancy,  he  thought  of  it  as  being 
the  ordained  place  for  her.  But  perhaps  she  had 
merely  failed  to  hear  his  footsteps.  He  called  into 
the  open  door. 

"  Linda,"  he  said.     "  I  've  come  back." 

No  answer  reached  him.  The  words  rang 
through  the  silent  rooms  and  echoed  back  to  him. 
He  walked  over  the  threshold. 

A  chair  in  the  front  room  was  turned  over.  His 
heart  leaped  at  the  sight  of  it.  "  Linda,"  he  called 
in  alarm,  "  where  are  you?  It 's  Bruce." 

He  stood  an  instant  listening,  a  great  fear  creep- 
ing over  him.  He  called  once  more,  first  to  Linda 
and  then  to  the  old  woman.  Then  he  leaped 
through  the  doorway. 

The  kitchen  was  similarly  deserted.     From  there 


170      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

f 

he  went  to  Linda's  room.  Her  coat  and  hat  lay  on 
the  bed,  but  there  was  no  Linda  to  stretch  her  arms 
to  him.  He  started  to  go  out  the  way  he  had  come, 
but  went  instead  to  his  own  room.  A  sheet  of  note- 
paper  lay  on  the  bed. 

It  had  been  scrawled  hurriedly;  but  although  he 
had  never  received  a  written  word  from  Linda  he 
did  not  doubt  but  that  it  was  her  hand : 

The  Turners  are  coming  —  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  them 
on  the  ridge.  There  is  no  use  of  my  trying  to  resist,  so 
I  '11  wait  for  them  in  the  front  room  and  maybe  they  won't 
find  this  note.  They  will  take  me  to  Simon's  house,  and 
I  know  from  its  structure  that  they  will  lock  me  in  an  in- 
terior room  in  the  East  wing.  Use  the  window  on  that 
side  nearest  the  North  corner.  My  one  hope  is  that  you 
will  come  at  once  to  save  me. 

Bruce's  eyes  leaped  over  the  page;  then  thrust 
it  into  his  pocket.  He  slipped  through  the  rear 
door  of  the  house,  into  the  shadows. 


XXI 

As  Bruce  hurried  up  the  hill  toward  the  Ross 
estates,  he  made  a  swift  calculation  of  the  rifle  shells 
in  his  pocket.  The  gun  held  six.  He  had  perhaps 
fifteen  others  in  his  pockets,  and  he  had  n't  stopped 
to  replenish  them  from  the  supply  Elmira  had 
brought.  He  hadn't  brought  Dave's  rifle  with 
him,  but  had  left  it  with  the  remainder  of  his  pack. 
He  knew  that  the  lighter  he  traveled  the  greater 
would  be  his  chance  of  success. 

The  note  had  explained  the  situation  perfectly. 
Obviously  the  girl  had  written  when  the  clan  was 
closing  about  the  house,  and  finding  her  in  the  front 
room,  there  had  been  no  occasion  to  search  the  other 
rooms  and  thus  discover  it.  The  girl  had  kept  her 
head  even  in  that  moment  of  crisis.  A  wave  of  ad- 
miration for  her  passed  over  him. 

And  the  little  action  had  set  an  example  for  him. 
He  knew  that  only  rigid  self-control  and  cool- 
headed  strategy  could  achieve  the  thing  he  had  set 
out  to  do.  There  must  be  no  false  motions,  no  mis- 
steps. He  must  put  out  of  his  mind  all  thought  of 
what  dreadful  fate  might  have  already  come  upon 
the  girl ;  such  fancies  would  cost  him  his  grip  upon 
his  own  faculties  and  lose  him  the  power  of  clear 
thinking.  His  impulse  was  to  storm  the  door,  to 
pour  his  lead  through  the  lighted  windows ;  but  such 
things  could  never  take  Linda  out  of  Simon's  hands. 


172      The  Strength   of  the   Pines 

Only  stealth  and  caution,  not  blind  courage  and 
frenzy,  could  serve  her  now.  Such  blind  killing  as 
his  heart  prompted  had  to  wait  for  another  time. 

Nevertheless,  the  stock  of  his  rifle  felt  good  in  his 
hands.  Perhaps  there  would  be  a  running  fight 
after  he  got  the  girl  out  of  the  house,  and  then  his 
cartridges  would  be  needed.  There  might  even  be 
a  moment  of  close  work  with  what  guards  the  Turn- 
ers had  set  over  her.  But  the  heavy  stock,  used  like 
a  club,  would  be  most  use  to  him  then. 

He  knew  only  the  general  direction  of  the  Ross 
house  where  Simon  lived.  Linda  had  told  him  it 
rested  upon  the  crest  of  a  small  hill,  beyond  a  ridge 
of  timber.  The  moonlight  showed  him  a  well-beaten 
trail,  and  he  strode  swiftly  along  it.  For  once,  he 
gave  no  heed  to  the  stirring  forest  life  about  him. 
When  a  dead  log  had  fallen  across  his  path,  he 
swung  over  it  and  hastened  on. 

He  had  a  vague  sense  of  familiarity  with  this 
winding  trail.  Perhaps  he  had  toddled  down  it  as 
a  baby,  perhaps  his  mother  had  carried  him  along  it 
on  a  neighborly  visit  to  the  Rosses.  He  went  over 
the  hill  and  pushed  his  way  to  the  edge  of  the  tim- 
ber. All  at  once  the  moon  showed  him  the  house. 

He  could  n't  mistake  it,  even  at  this  distance. 
And  to  Bruce  it  had  a  singular  effect  of  unreality. 
The  mountain  men  did  not  ordinarily  build  homes 
of  such  dimensions.  They  were  usually  merely  log 
cabins  of  two  or  three  lower  rooms  and  a  garret  to 
be  reached  with  a  ladder;  or  else,  on  the  rough 
mountain  highways,  crude  dwellings  of  unpainted 
frame.  The  ancestral  home  of  the  Rosses,  how- 


The   Blood  Atonement        173 

ever,  had  fully  a  dozen  rooms,  and  it  loomed  to  an 
incredible  size  in  the  mystery  of  the  moonlight.  He 
saw  quaint  gabled  roofs  and  far-spreading  wings. 
And  it  seemed  more  like  a  house  of  enchantment,  a 
structure  raised  by  the  rubbing  of  a  magic  lamp, 
than  the  work  of  carpenters  and  masons. 

Probably  its  wild  surroundings  had  a  great  deal 
to  do  with  this  effect.  There  were  no  roads  lead- 
ing to  Trail's  End.  Material  could  not  be  carried 
over  its  winding  trails  except  on  pack  animals.  He 
had  a  realization  of  tremendous  difficulties  that  had 
been  conquered  by  tireless  effort,  of  long  months  of 
unending  toil,  of  exhaustless  patience,  and  at  the 
end,  —  a  dream  come  true.  All  of  its  lumber  had 
to  be  hewed  from  the  forests  about.  Its  stone  had 
been  quarried  from  the  rock  cliffs  and  hauled  with 
infinite  labor  over  the  steep  trails. 

He  understood  now  why  the  Turners  had  coveted 
it.  It  seemed  the  acme  of  luxury  to  them. 
And  more  clearly  than  ever  he  understood  why  the 
Rosses  had  died,  sooner  than  relinquish  it,  and  why 
its  usurpation  by  the  Turners  had  left  such  a  debt 
of  hatred  to  Linda.  It  was  such  a  house  as  men 
dream  about,  a  place  to  bequeath  to  their  children 
and  to  perpetuate  their  names.  Built  like  a  rock,  it 
would  stand  through  the  decades,  to  pass  from  one 
generation  to  another,  —  an  enduring  monument  to 
the  strong  thews  of  the  men  who  had  builded  it.  All 
men  ,know  that  the  love  of  home  is  one  of  the  few 
great  impulses  that  has  made  toward  civilization, 
but  by  the  same  token  it  has  been  the  cause  of  many 
wars.  It  was  never  an  instinct  of  a  nomadic  people, 


174       The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

and  possibly  in  these  latter  days  —  days  of  apart- 
ments and  flats  and  hotels  —  its  hold  is  less.  Per- 
haps the  day  is  coming  when  this  love  will  die  in  the 
land,  but  with  it  will  die  the  strength  to  repel 
the  heathen  from  our  walls,  and  the  land  will  not 
be  worth  living  in,  anyway.  But  it  was  not  dead 
to  the  mountain  people.  No  really  primitive  emo- 
tion ever  is. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  a  question  of  the  age-old 
longing  for  immortality,  and  therefore  it  must  have 
its  seat  in  a  place  higher  than  this  world  of  death. 
Men  know  that  when  they  walk  no  longer  under  the 
suA  and  the  moon  it  is  good  to  have  certain  monu- 
ments to  keep  their  name  alive,  whether  it  be  blocks 
of  granite  at  the  grave-head,  or  sons  living  in  an  an- 
cestral home.  The  Rosses  had  known  this  instinct 
very  well.  As  all  men  who  are  strong-thewed  and 
of  real  natural  virtue,  they  had  known  pride  of  race 
and  name,  and  it  had  been  a  task  worth  while  to 
build  this  stately  house  on  their  far-lying  acres. 
They  had  given  their  fiber  to  it  freely;  no  man  who 
beheld  the  structure  could  doubt  that  fact.  They 
had  simply  consecrated  their  lives  to  it;  their  one 
Work  by  which  they  could  show  to  all  who  came 
after  that  by  their  own  hands  they  had  earned  their 
right  to  live. 

They  had  been  workers,  these  men;  and  there  is 
no  higher  degree.  But  their  achievements  had  been 
stolen  from  their  hands.  Bruce  felt  the  real  signifi- 
cance of  his  undertaking  as  never  before. 

He  saw  the  broad  lands  lying  under  the  moon. 
There  were  hundreds  of  acres  in  alfalfa  and  clover 


The   Blood   Atonement        175 

to  furnish  hay  for  the  winter  feeding.  There  were 
wide,  green  pastures,  ensilvered  by  the  moon;  and 
fields  of  corn  laid  out  in  even  rows.  The  old  appeal 
of  the  soil,  an  instinct  that  no  person  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  descent  can  ever  completely  escape,  swept 
through  him.  They  were  worth  fighting  for,  these 
fertile  acres.  The  wind  brought  up  the  sweet 
breath  of  ripening  hay. 

Not  for  nothing  have  a  hundred  generations  of 
Anglo-Saxon  people  been  tillers  of  the  soil.  They 
had  left  a  love  of  it  to  Bruce.  In  a  single  flash  of 
thought,  even  as  he  hastened  toward  the  house  where 
he  supposed  Linda  was  held  prisoner,  the  ancient 
joy  returned  to  him.  He  knew  what  it  would  be 
like  to  feel  the  earth's  pulse  through  the  handles  of 
a  plow,  to  behold  the  first  start  of  green  things  in 
the  spring  and  the  golden  ripening  in  fall;  to  watch 
the  flocks  through  the  breathless  nights  and  the 
herds  feeding  on  the  distant  hills. 

Bruce  looked  over  the  ground.  He  knew  enough 
not  to  continue  the  trail  farther.  The  space  in 
front  was  bathed  in  moonlight,  and  he  would  make 
the  best  kind  of  target  to  any  rifleman  watching 
from  the  windows  of  the  house.  He  turned  through 
the  coverts,  seeking  the  shadow  of  the  forests  at  one 
side. 

By  going  in  a  quartering  direction  he  was  able  to 
approach  within  two  hundred  yards  of  the  house 
without  emerging  into  the  moonlight.  At  that 
point  the  real  difficulty  of  the  stalk  began.  He 
hovered  in  the  shadows,  then  slipped  one  hundred 
feet  farther  to  the  trunk  of  a  great  oak  tree. 


176      The  Strength   of  the   Pines 

He  could  see  the  house  much  more  plainly  now. 
True,  it  had  suffered  neglect  in  the  past  twenty 
years ;  it  needed  painting  and  many  of  its  windows 
were  broken,  but  it  was  a  magnificent  old  mansion 
even  yet.  It  stood  lost  in  its  dreams  in  the  moon- 
light ;  and  if,  as  old  stories  say,  houses  have  memo- 
ries, this  old  structure  was  remembering  certain 
tragic  dramas  that  had  waged  within  and  about  it 
in  a  long-ago  day.  Bruce  rejoiced  to  see  that  there 
were  no  lights  in  the  east  wing  of  the  house;  the 
window  that  Linda  had  indicated  in  the  note  was 
just  a  black  square  on  the  moonlit  wall. 

There  was  a  neglected  garden  close  to  this  wing 
of  the  house.  Bruce  could  make  out  rose  bushes, 
grown  to  brambles,  tall,  rank  weeds,  and  heavy 
clumps  of  vines.  If  he  could  reach  this  spot  in 
safety  he  could  approach  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
house  and  still  remain  in  cover.  He  went  flat ;  then 
slowly  crawled  toward  it. 

Once  a  light  sprang  up  in  a  window  near  the 
front,  and  he  pressed  close  to  the  earth.  But  in  a 
moment  it  went  away.  He  crept  on.  He  didn't 
know  when  a  watchman  in  one  of  the  dark  windows 
would  discern  his  creeping  figure.  But  he  did  know 
perfectly  just  what  manner  of  greeting  he  might 
expect  in  this  event.  There  would  be  a  single  little 
spurt  of  fire  in  the  darkness,  so  small  that  probably 
his  eyes  would  quite  fail  to  catch  it.  If  they  did  dis- 
cern it,  there  would  be  no  time  for  a  message  to  be 
recorded  in  his  brain.  It  would  mean  a  swift  and 
certain  end  of  all  messages.  The  Turners  would 
lose  no  time  in  emptying  their  rifles  at  him,  and 


The   Blood  Atonement        177 

there  wouldn't  be  the  slightest  doubt  about  their 
hitting  the  mark.  All  the  clan  were  expert  shots 
and  the  range  was  close. 

The  house  was  deeply  silent.  He  felt  a  growing 
sense  of  awe.  In  a  moment  more,  he  slipped  into 
the  shadows  of  the  neglected  rose  gardens. 

He  lay  quiet  an  instant,  resting.  He  did  n't  wish 
to  risk  the  success  of  his  expedition  by  fatiguing 
himself  now.  He  wanted  his  full  strength  and 
breath  for  any  crisis  that  he  should  meet  in  the  room 
where  Linda  was  confined. 

Many  times,  he  knew,  skulking  figures  had  been 
Concealed  in  this  garden.  Probably  the  Turners, 
in  the  days  of  the  blood-feud,  had  often  waited  in  its 
shadows  for  a  sight  of  some  one  of  their  enemies  in 
a  lighted  window.  Old  ghosts  dwelt  in  it ;  he  could 
see  their  shadows  waver  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eyes.  Or  perhaps  it  was  only  the  shadow  of  the 
brambles,  blown  by  the  wind. 

Once  his  heart  leaped  into  his  throat  at  a  sharp 
crack  of  brush  beside  him ;  and  he  could  scarcely  re- 
strain a  muscular  jerk  that  might  have  revealed  his 
position.  But  when  he  turned  his  head  he  could  see 
nothing  but  the  coverts  and  the  moon  above  them. 
A  garden  snake,  or  perhaps  a  blind  mole,  had  made 
the  sound. 

Four  minutes  later  he  was  within  one  dozen  feet 
of  the  designated  window.  There  was  a  stretch  of 
moonlight  between,  but  he  passed  it  quickly.  And 
now  he  stood  in  bold  relief  against  the  moonlit 
house-wall. 

He  was  in  perfectly  plain  sight  of  any  one  on  the 


178        The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

hill  behind.  Possibly  his  distant  form  might  have 
been  discerned  from  the  window  of  one  of  the  lesser 
houses  occupied  by  Simon's  kin.  But  he  was  too 
close  to  the  wall  to  be  visible  from  the  windows  of 
Simon's  house,  except  by  a  deliberate  scrutiny. 
And  the  window  slipped  up  noiselessly  in  his 
hands. 

He  was  considerably  surprised.  He  had  ex- 
pected this  window  to  be  locked.  Some  way,  he 
felt  less  hopeful  of  success.  He  recalled  in  his  mind 
the  directions  that  Linda  had  left,  wondering  if  he 
had  come  to  the  wrong  window.  But  there  was  no 
chance  of  a  mistake  in  this  regard ;  it  was  the  north- 
ernmost window  in  the  east  wing.  However,  she 
had  said  that  she  would  be  confined  in  an  interior 
room,  and  possibly  the  Turners  had  seen  no  need 
of  barriers  other  than  its  locked  door.  Probably 
they  had  not  even  anticipated  that  Bruce  would  at- 
tempt a  rescue. 

He  leaped  lightly  upward  and  slipped  silently 
into  the  room.  Except  for  the  moonlit  square  on 
the  floor  it  was  quite  in  darkness.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  even  in  the  night  hours  over  a  camp  fire  he 
had  never  known  such  silence  as  this  that  pressed 
about  him  now. 

He  stood  a  moment,  hardly  breathing.  But  he 
decided  it  was  not  best  to  strike  a  match.  There 
were  no  enemies  here,  or  they  certainly  would  have 
accosted  him  when  he  raised  the  window;  and  a 
match  might  reveal  his  presence  to  some  one  in  an 
adjoining  room.  He  rested  his  hand  against  the 
wall,  then  moved  slowly  around  the  room.  He 


The   Blood  Atonement        179 

knew  that  by  this  course  he  would  soon  encounter 
the  door  that  led  into  the  interior  rooms. 

In  a  moment  he  found  it.  He  stood  waiting. 
He  turned  the  knob  gently;  then  softly  pulled. 
But  the  door  was  locked. 

There  was  no  sound  now  but  the  loud  beating  of 
his  own  heart.  He  could  no  longer  hear  the  voices 
of  the  wind  outside  the  open  window.  He  won- 
dered whether,  should  he  hurl  all  his  magnificent 
strength  against  the  panels,  he  could  break  the 
lock ;  and  if  he  did  so,  whether  he  could  escape  with 
the  girl  before  he  was  shot  down.  But  his  hand, 
wandering  over  the  lock,  encountered  the  key. 

It  was  easy,  after  all.  He  turned  the  key.  The 
door  opened  beneath  his  hand. 

If  there  had  been  a  single  ray  of  light  under  the 
door  or  through  the  keyhole,  his  course  would  have 
been  quite  different.  He  would  have  opened  the 
door  suddenly  in  that  case,  hoping  to  take  by  sur- 
prise whosoever  of  the  clan  were  guarding  Linda. 
To  open  a  door  slowly  into  a  room  full  of  enemies 
is  only  to  give  them  plenty  of  time  to  cock  their 
rifles.  But  in  this  case  the  room  was  in  darkness, 
and  all  that  he  need  fear  was  making  a  sudden 
sound.  The  opening  slowly  widened.  Then  he 
slipped  through  and  stood  ten  breathless  seconds  in 
silence. 

"  Linda,"  he  whispered.  He  waited  a  long  time 
for  an  answer.  Then  he  stole  farther  into  the  room. 

"  Linda,"  he  said  again.  "  It 's  Bruce.  Are 
you  here? " 

And  in  that  unfathomable  silence  he  heard  a 


i8o      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

sound  —  a  sound  so  dim  and  small  that  it  only 
reached  the  frontier  of  hearing.  It  was  a  strange, 
whispering,  eerie  sound,  and  it  filled  the  room  like 
the  faintest,  almost  imperceptible  gust  of  wind. 
But  there  was  no  doubting  its  reality.  And  after 
one  more  instant  in  which  his  heart  stood  still,  he 
knew  what  it  was :  the  sound  of  suppressed  breath- 
ing. A  living  creature  occupied  this  place  of  dark- 
ness with  him,  and  was  either  half -gagged  by,  a 
handkerchief  over  the  face  or  was  trying  to  con- 
ceal its  presence  by  muffling  its  breathing. 
"  Linda,"  he  said  again. 

There  was  a  strange  response  to  the  calling  of 
that  name.  He  heard  no  whispered  answer.  In- 
stead, the  door  he  had  just  passed  through  shut 
softly  behind  him. 

For  a  fleeting  instant  he  hoped  that  the  wind  had 
blown  it  shut.  For  it  is  always  the  way  of  youth 
to  hope,  —  as  long  as  any  hope  is  left.  His  heart 
leaped  and  he  whirled  to  face  it.  Then  he  heard 
the  unmistakable  sound  of  a  bolt  being  slid  into 
place. 

Some  little  space  of  time  followed  in  silence. 
He  struggled  with  growing  horror,  and  time  seemed 
limitless.  Then  a  strong  man  laughed  grimly  in 
the  darkness. 


XXII 

As  Bruce  waited,  his  eyes  slowly  became  accus- 
tomed to  the  darkness.  He  began  to  see  the  dim 
outlines  of  his  fellow  occupants  of  the  room, — 
fully  seven  brawny  men  seated  in  chairs  about  the 
walls.  "  Let 's  hear  you  drop  your  rifle,"  one  of 
them  said. 

Bruce  recognized  the  grim  voice  as  Simon's,  — 
heard  on  one  occasion  before.  He  let  his  rifle  fall 
from  his  hands.  He  knew  that  only  death  would 
be  the  answer  to  any  resistance  to  these  men.  Then 
Simon  scratched  a  match,  and  without  looking  at 
him,  bent  to  touch  it  to  the  wick  of  the  lamp. 

The  tiny  flame  sputtered  and  flickered,  filling 
the  room  with  dancing  shadows.  Bruce  looked 
about  him.  It  was  the  same  long,  white-walled 
room  that  Dave  and  Simon  had  conversed  in,  after 
Elmira  had  first  dispatched  her  message  by  Barney 
Wegan.  Bruce  knew  that  he  faced  the  Turner 
clan  at  last. 

Simon  sat  beside  the  fireplace,  the  lamp  at  his  el- 
bow. As  the  wick  caught,  the  light  brightened 
and  steadied,  and  Bruce  could  see  plainly.  On 
each  side  of  him,  in  chairs  about  the  walls,  sat 
Simon's  brothers  and  his  blood  relations  that  shared 
the  estate  with  him.  They  were  huge,  gaunt  men, 
most  of  them  dark-bearded  and  sallow-skinned,  and 


1 82        The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

all  of  them  regarded  him  with  the  same  gaze  of 
speculative  interest. 

Bruce  did  not  flinch  before  their  gaze.  He  stood 
erect  as  he  could,  instinctively  defiant. 

"  Our  guest  is  rather  early,"  Simon  began. 
"  Dave  has  n't  come  yet,  and  Dave  is  the  principal 
witness." 

A  bearded  man  across  the  room  answered  him. 
"  But  I  guess  we  ain't  goin'  to  let  the  prisoner  go 
for  lack  of  evidence." 

The  circle  laughed  then,  —  a  harsh  sound  that 
was  not  greatly  different  from  the  laughter  of  the 
coyotes  on  the  sagebrush  hills.  But  they  sobered 
when  they  saw  that  Simon  hadn't  laughed.  His 
dark  eyes  were  glowing. 

"  You,  by  no  chance,  met  him  on  the  way  home, 
did  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  wish  I  had,"  Bruce  replied.    "  But  I  did  n't." 

"  I  don't  understand  your  eagerness.  You 
did  n't  seem  overly  eager  to  meet  us." 

Bruce  smiled  wanly.  These  wilderness  men  re- 
garded him  with  fresh  interest.  Somehow,  they 
hadn't  counted  on  his  smiling.  It  was  almost  as 
if  he  were  of  the  wilderness  breed  himself,  instead 
of  the  son  of  cities.  "  I  'm  here,  am  I  not?  "  he 
said.  "  It  is  n't  as  if  you  came  to  my  house  first." 

He  regarded  the  clansmen  again.  He  had  missed 
Dave's  crafty  face  in  the  circle. 

"  Yes,  you  're  here,"  Simon  confirmed.  "  And 
I  'm  wondering  if  you  remember  what  I  told  you 
just  as  you  left  Martin's  store  that  day  —  that  I 
gave  no  man  two  warnings." 


The   Blood  Atonement        183 

"  I  remember  that,"  Bruce  replied.  "  I  saw  no 
reason  for  listening  to  you.  I  don't  see  any  reason 
now,  and  I  would  n't  if  it  was  n't  for  that  row  of 
guns." 

Simon  studied  his  pale  face.  "  Perhaps  you  '11 
be  sorry  you  did  n't  listen,  before  this  night  is  over. 
And  there  are  many  hours  yet  in  it.  Bruce  —  you 
came  up  here  to  these  mountains  to  open  old 
wounds." 

"  Simon,  I  came  up  here  to  right  wrongs  —  and 
you  know  it.  If  old  wounds  are  opened,  I  can't 
help  it." 

"  And  to-night,"  Simon  went  on  as  if  he  had  not 
been  answered,  "  you  have  come  unbidden  into  our 
house.  It  would  be  all  the  evidence  the  courts 
would  need,  Bruce  —  that  you  crept  into  our  house 
in  the  dead  of  night.  If  anything  happened  to  you 
here,  no  word  could  be  raised  against  us.  You  were 
a  brave  man,  Bruce." 

"  So  I  can  suppose  you  left  the  note?  " 

The  circle  laughed  again,  but  Simon  silenced 
them  with  a  gesture.  '  You  're  very  keen,"  he 
said. 

*  Then  where  is  Linda?  "  Bruce's  eyes  hardened. 
"  I  am  more  interested  in  her  whereabouts  than  in 
this  talk  with  you." 

'  The  last  seen  of  her,  she  was  going  up  a  hill 
with  Dave.  When  Dave  returns  you  can  ask 
him." 

The  bearded  man  opposite  from  Simon  uttered  a 
short  syllable  of  a  laugh.  "  And  it  don't  look  like 
he  's  going  to  return,"  he  said.  The  knowing  look 


184      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

on  his  face  was  deeply  abhorrent  to  Bruce.  Curi- 
ously, Simon's  face  flushed,  and  he  whirled  in  his 
chair. 

"  Do  you  mean  anything  in  particular,  Old 
Bill?  "  he  demanded. 

"It  looks  to  me  like  maybe  Dave  's  forgot  a  lot 
of  things  you  told  him,  and  he  and  Linda  are 
havin'  a  little  sparkin'  time  together  out  in  the 
brush." 

The  idea  seemed  to  please  the  clan.  But  Simon's 
eyes  glowed,  and  Bruce  himself  felt  the  beginnings 
of  a  blind  rage  that  might,  unless  he  held  hard  upon 
it,  hurl  him  against  their  remorseless  weapons.  "  I 
don't  want  any  more  such  talk  out  of  you,  Old 
Bill,"  Simon  reproved  him,  "  and  we  've  talked 
enough,  anyway."  His  keen  eyes  studied  Bruce's 
flushed  face.  "  One  of  you  give  our  guest  a  chair 
and  fix  him  up  in  it  with  a  thong.  We  don't  want 
him  flying  off  the  coop  and  getting  shot  until  we  're 
done  talking  to  him." 

One  of  the  clansmen  pushed  a  chair  forward  with 
sudden  force,  striking  Bruce  in  the  knees  and  al- 
most knocking  him  over.  The  circle  leered,  and  he 
sat  down  in  it  with  as  much  ease  as  possible.  Then 
one  of  the  men  looped  his  arms  to  the  arms  of  the 
chair  with  thongs  of  buckskin.  Another  thong  was 
tied  about  his  ankles.  Then  the  clansmen  went 
back  to  their  chairs. 

"  I  really  don't  see  the  use  of  all  these  dramatics," 
Bruce  said  coldly.  "  And  I  don't  particularly  like 
veiled  threats.  At  present  I  seem  to  be  in  your 
hands." 


The   Blood  Atonement        185 

"  You  don't  seem  to  be,"  Simon  answered  with 
reddening  eyes.  "  You  are." 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  saying  I  'm  sorry  I 
did  n't  heed  the  threats  you  gave  me  before  —  and 
as  to  those  I  've  heard  to-night  —  they  're  not  going 
to  do  you  any  good,  either.  It  is  true  that  you 
found  me  in  the  house  you  occupy  in  the  dead  of 
night  —  but  it  isn't  your  house  to  start  with. 
What  a  man  seizes  by  murder  is  n't  his." 

"  What  a  man  holds  with  a  hard  fist  and  his 
rifle  —  in  these  mountains  —  is  his,"  Simon  contra- 
dicted him. 

"  Besides,  you  got  me  here  with  a  trick,"  Bruce 
went  on  without  heeding  him.  "So  don't  pretend 
that  any  wickedness  you  do  to-night  was  justified 
by  my  coming.  You  '11  have  to  answer  for  it  just 
the  same." 

Simon  leaned  forward  in  his  chair.  His  dark 
eyes  glowed  in  the  lamplight.  "  I  Ve  heard  such 
talk  as  that  before,"  he  said.  "  I  expect  your  own 
father  talked  like  that  a  few  times  himself." 

The  words  seemed  to  strike  straight  home  to  the 
gathered  Turners.  The  moment  was  breathless, 
weighted  with  suspense.  All  of  them  seemed 
straining  in  their  chairs. 

Bruce's  head  bowed,  but  the  veins  stood  out  be- 
neath the  short  hair  on  his  temples,  and  his  lips 
trembled  when  he  answered.  "  That  was  a  greater 
wickedness  than  anything  —  anything  you  can  do 
to-night.  And  you  '11  have  to  answer  for  it  all  the 


more." 


He  spoke  the  last  sentence  with  a  calm  assurance. 


1 86      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

Though  spoken  softly,  the  words  rang  clear.  But 
the  answer  of  the  evil-hearted  man  before  him  was 
only  a  laugh. 

"  And  there  's  one  thing  more  I  want  to  make 
clear,"  Bruce  went  on  in  the  strong  voice  of  a  man 
who  had  conquered  his  terror.  And  it  was  not  be- 
cause he  did  not  realize  his  danger.  He  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  Turners,  and  he  knew  that  Simon  had 
spoken  certain  words  that,  if  for  no  other  reason 
than  his  reputation  with  his  followers,  he  would 
liave  to  make  good.  Bruce  knew  that  no  moment 
of  his  life  was  ever  fraught  with  greater  peril.  But 
the  fact  itself  that  there  were  no  doors  of  escape 
open  to  him,  and  he  was  face  to  face  with  his  des- 
tiny, steadied  him  all  the  more. 

The  boy  that  had  been  wakened  in  his  bed  at 
3iome  by  the  ring  of  the  'phone  bell  had  wholly 
vanished  now.  A  man  of  the  wild  places  had 
come  instead,  stern  and  courageous  and  un- 
flinching. 

"  Everything  is  tolerable  clear  to  us  already," 
rSimon  said,  "  except  your  sentence." 

"I  want  you  to  know  that  I  refuse  to  be  im- 
pressed with  this  judicial  attitude  of  you  and  your 
blackguard  followers,"  Bruce  went  on.  "  This 
gathering  of  the  group  of  you  does  n't  make  any 
evil  that  you  do  any  less  wrong,  or  the  payment 
you  '11  have  to  make  any  less  sure.  It  lies  wholly  in 
your  power  to  kill  me  while  I  'm  sitting  here,  and 
I  have  n't  much  hope  but  that  you  '11  do  it.  But  let 
me  tell  you  this.  A  reign  of  bloodshed  and  crime 
go  on  only  so  long.  You  Ve  been  kings  up 


The   Blood   Atonement        187 

here,  and  you  think  the  law  can't  reach  you.  But 
it  will  —  believe  me?  it  will." 

"  And  this  was  the  man  who  was  going  to  begin 
the  blood- feud  —  already  hollering  about  the  law," 
Simon  said  to  his  followers.  He  turned  to  Bruce. 
"  It 's  plain  that  Dave  is  n't  going  to  come.  I  '11 
have  to  be  the  chief  witness  myself,  after  all.  How- 
ever, Dave  told  me  all  that  I  needed  to  know.  The 
first  question  I  have  to  ask  of  you,  Folger,  is  the 
whereabouts  of  that  agreement  between  your  late 
lamented  father  and  the  late  lamented  Matthew 
Ross,  according  to  what  the  trapper  Hudson  told 
you  a  few  days  ago." 

Bruce  was  strong  enough  to  laugh  in  his  bonds. 
'  Up  to  this  time  I  have  given  you  and  your  mur- 
derous crowd  credit  for  at  least  natural  intelli- 
gence," he  replied,  "  but  I  see  I  was  mistaken  —  or 
you  would  n't  expect  an  answer  to  that  question." 

"  Do  you  mean  you  don't  know  its  where- 
abouts? " 

"  I  won't  give  you  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
whether  I  know  or  not.  I  just  refuse  to  answer." 

"  I  trust  the  ropes  are  tight  enough  about  your 
wrists." 

"  Plenty  tight,  thank  you.  They  are  cutting  the 
flesh  so  it  bleeds." 

"  How  would  you  like  them  some  tighter?  " 

u  Pull  them  till  they  cut  my  arms  off,  and  you 
won't  get  a  civil  answer  out  of  me.  In  fact  —  " 
and  the  man's  eyes  blazed  —  "  I  'm  tired  of  talking 
to  this  outlaw  crowd.  And  the  sooner  you  do  what 
you  're  going  to  do,  the  better  it  will  suit  me." 


1 88      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

"  We  '11  come  to  that  shortly  enough.  Disre- 
garding that  for  a  moment  —  we  understand  that 
you  want  to  open  up  the  blood-feud  again.  Is  that 
true?  " 

Bruce  made  no  answer,  only  gazed  without  flinch- 
ing into  his  questioner's  face. 

"  That  was  what  my  brother  Dave  led  me  to  un- 
derstand," Simon  went  on,  "  so  we  Ve  decided  to 
let  you  have  your  way.  It 's  open  —  it 's  been  open 
since  you  came  here.  You  disregarded  the  warning 
I  gave  —  and  men  don't  disregard  my  warnings 
twice.  You  threatened  Dave  with  your  rifle.  This 
is  a  different  land  than  you  're  used  to,  Bruce,  and 
we  do  things  our  own  way.  You  Ve  hunted  for 
trouble  and  now  you  Ve  found  it.  Your  father  be- 
fore you  thought  he  could  stand  against  us  — w  but 
he  's  been  lying  still  a  long  time.  The  R6sses 
thought  so  too.  And  it  is  part  of  our  code  never  to 
take  back  a  threat  —  but  always  to  make  it  good." 

Bruce  still  sat  with  lowered  head,  seemingly  not 
listening.  The  clansmen  gazed  at  him,  and  a  new, 
more  deadly  spirit  was  in  the  room.  None  of  them. 
smiled  now;  the  whole  circle  of  faces  was  dark  itad 
intent,  their  eyes  glittered  through  narrowed  lids, 
their  lips  set.  The  air  was  charged  with  suspense. 
The  moment  of  crisis  was  near. 

Sometimes  the  men  glanced  at  their  leader's  face, 
and  what  they  saw  there  filled  them  with  a  grim  and 
terrible  eagerness.  Simon  was  beginning  to  run 
true  to  form.  His  dark  passions  were  slowly  mas- 
tering him.  For  a  moment  they  all  sat  as  if  en- 
tranced in  a  communion  of  cruelty,  and  to  Bruce 


The   Blood   Atonement        189 

they  seemed  like  a  colony  of  spotted  rattlesnakes 
such  as  sometimes  hold  their  communions  of  hatred 
on  the  sun-blasted  cliffs. 

All  at  once  Simon  laughed,  —  a  sharp,  hoarse 
sound  that  had,  in  its  overtones,  a  note  of  madness. 
Every  man  in  the  room  started.  They  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  Bruce.  They  looked  at  their 
leader  with  a  curious  expectancy.  They  seemed  to 
know  that  that  wild  laugh  betokened  but  one  thing 
—  the  impact  of  some  terrible  sort  of  inspiration. 

As  they  watched,  they  saw  the  idea  take  hold  of 
him.  The  huge  face  darkened.  His  eyes  seemed 
to  smolder  as  he  studied  his  huge  hands.  They 
understood,  these  wilderness  men.  They  had  seen 
thei  leader  in  such  sessions  before.  A  strange  and 
grim  idea  had  come  to  him;  already  he  was  feasting 
on  its  possibilities.  It  seemed  to  heat  his  blood  and 
blur  his  vision. 

1  We  Ve  decided  to  be  merciful,  after  all,"  he 
said  slowly.  But  neither  Bruce  nor  the  clansmen 
misunderstood  him  or  were  deceived.  They  only 
knew  that  these  words  were  simply  part  of  a  deadly 
jeijjk  that  in  a  moment  all  would  understand.  "  In- 
stead of  filling  you  full  of  thirty-thirty  bullets,  as 
better  men  than  you  have  been  filled  and  what 
we  ought  to  do  —  we  're  just  going  to  let  you  lay 
out  all  night  —  in  the  pasture  —  with  your  feet 
tied  and  your  hands  behind  your  back." 

No  one  relaxed.  They  listened,  staring,  for 
what  would  follow. 

"  You  may  get  a  bit  cold  before  morning,"  Simon 
went  on,  "  but  you  're  warmly  dressed,  and  a  little 


i go      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

frost  won't  hurt  you.  And  I  've  got  the  place  all 
picked  out  for  you.  And  we  're  even  going  to  move 
something  that 's  laying  there  so  it  will  be  more 
pleasant." 

Again  he  paused.  Bruce  looked  up. 
'  The  thing  that 's  lying  there  is  a  dead  yearling 
<calf,  half  ate  up.  It  was  killed  last  night  by  the 
Killer  —  the  old  grizzly  that  maybe  you  Ve  heard 
of  before.  Some  of  the  boys  were  going  to  wait 
in  trees  to-night  by  the  carcass  and  shoot  the  Killer 
when  he  comes  back  after  another  meal  —  some- 
thing that  likely  won't  happen  until  about  midnight 
if  he  runs  true  to  form.  But  it  won't  be  necessary 
now.  We  're  going  to  haul  the  carcass  away  — 
down  wind  where  he  won't  smell  it.  And  we  're 
going  to  leave  you  there  in  its  place  to  explain  to 
him  what  became  of  it." 

Bruce  felt  their  glowing  eyes  upon  him.  Exul- 
tation was  creeping  over  the  clan;  once  more  their 
leader  had  done  himself  proud.  It  was  such  sug- 
gestions as  this  that  kept  them  in  awe  of  him. 

And  they  thought  they  understood.  They  sup- 
posed that  the  night  would  be  of  the  utter  depths 
of  terror  to  the  tenderfoot  from  the  cities,  that  the 
bear  would  sniff  and  wander  about  him,  and  per- 
chance the  man's  hair  would  be  turned  quite  white 
fcy  morning.  But  being  mountain  men,  they 
thought  that  the  actual  danger  of  attack  was  not 
great.  They  supposed  that  the  inborn  fear  of  men 
that  all  animals  possess  would  keep  him  at  a  dis- 
tance. And,  if  by  any  unlikely  chance  the  theft 
of  the  beef-carcass  should  throw  him  into  such  a 


The   Blood  Atonement        191 

rage  that  he  would  charge  Bruce,  no  harm  in  par- 
ticular would  be  done.  The  man  was  a  Folger,  an 
enemy  of  the  clan,  and  after  once  the  telltale  ropes, 
were  removed,  no  one  would  ask  questions  about 
the  mutilated,  broken  thing  that  would  be  found 
next  morning  in  the  pasture.  The  story  would 
carry  down  to  the  settlements  merely  as  a  fresh 
atrocity  of  the  Killer,  the  last  and  greatest  of  the 
grizzlies. 

But  they  had  no  realization  of  the  full  dreadful- 
ness  of  the  plan.  They  had  n't  heard  the  more  re- 
cent history  of  the  Killer, —  the  facts  that  Simom 
had  just  learned  from  Dave.  Strange  and  dark 
conjecturing  occupied  Simon's  mind,  and  he  knew 
—  in  a  moment's  thought  —  that  something  more; 
than  terror  and  indignity  might  be  Bruce's  fate. 
But  his  passion  was  ripe  for  what  might  come. 
The  few  significant  facts  that  they  did  not  know 
were  merely  that  the  Killer  had  already  found  men 
out,  that  he  had  learned  in  an  instant's  meeting  with 
Hudson  beside  Little  River  that  men  were  no 
longer  to  be  feared,  and  worse,  that  he  was  raving 
and  deadly  from  the  pain  of  the  wound  that  Bruce's 
bullet  had  inflicted. 

The  circle  of  faces  faded  out  for  both  of  them  as 
the  eyes  of  Bruce  and  Simon  met  and  clashed  and 
battled  in  the  silent  room. 


XXIII 

"  IF  Simon  Turner  is  n't  a  coward,"  Bruce  said 
slowly  to  the  clan,  "  he  will  give  me  a  chance  to 
fight  him  now." 

The  room  was  wholly  silent,  and  the  clan  turned 
expectant  eyes  to  their  leader.  Simon  scowled,  but 
he  knew  he  had  to  make  answer.  His  eyes  crept 
over  Bruce's  powerful  body.  '  There  is  no  obliga- 
tion on  my  part  to  answer  any  challenges  by  you," 
he  said.  "  You  are  a  prisoner.  But  if  you  think 
you  can  sleep  better  in  the  pasture  because  of  it, 
I  '11  let  you  have  your  chance.  Take  off  his  ropes." 

A  knife  slashed  at  his  bonds.  Simon  stood  up, 
and  Bruce  sprang  from  his  chair  like  a  wild  cat,  aim- 
ing his  hardened  knuckles  straight  for  the  leering 
lips.  He  made  the  attack  with  astonishing  swift- 
ness and  power,  and  his  intention  was  to  deliver  at 
least  one  terrific  blow  before  Simon  could  get  his 
arms  up  to  defend  himself.  He  had  given  the  huge 
clan  leader  credit  for  tremendous  physical  strength, 
but  he  did  n't  think  that  the  heavy  body  could  move 
with  real  agility.  But  the  great  muscles  seemed  to 
snap  into  tension,  the  head  ducked  to  one  side,  and 
his  own  huge  fists  struck  out. 

If  Bruce's  blow  had  gone  straight  home  where  it 
had  been  aimed,  Simon  would  have  had  nothing 
more  to  say  for  a  few  moments  at  least.  When 


The   Blood  Atonement         193 

man  was  built  of  clay,  Nature  saw  fit  to  leave  him 
with  certain  imperfections  lest  he  should  think  him- 
self a  god,  and  a  weak  spot  in  the  region  of  the  chin 
is  one  of  them.  The  jaw  bones  carry  the  impact 
of  a  hard  blow  to  certain  nerve  centers  near  the 
temples,  and  restful  sleep  comes  quickly.  There 
are  never  any  ill  effects,  unless  further  damage  is 
inflicted  while  unconsciousness  is  upon  him.  In 
spite  of  the  fact  that  Simon  got  quickly  into  a  posi- 
tion of  defense,  that  first  blow  still  had  a  fair  chance 
of  bringing  the  fight  to  an  abrupt  end.  But  still 
another  consideration  remained. 

Bruce's  muscles  had  refused  to  respond.  The 
leap  had  been  powerful  and  swift  yet  wholly  inac- 
curate. And  the  reason  was  just  that  his  wrists 
and  ankles  had  been  numbed  by  the  tight  thongs 
by  which  they  had  been  confined.  Simon  met  the 
leap  with  a  short,  powerful  blow  into  Bruce's  face; 
and  he  reeled  backward.  The  arms  of  the  clans- 
men alone  kept  him  from  falling. 

The  blow  seemed  to  daze  Bruce;  and  at  first  his 
only  realization  was  that  the  room  suddenly  rang 
with  harsh  and  grating  laughter.  Then  Simon's 
words  broke  through  it.  "  Put  back  the  thongs," 
he  ordered,  "  and  go  get  your  horses." 

Bruce  was  dimly  aware  of  the  falling  of  a  silence, 
and  then  the  arms  of  strong  men  half  carrying  him 
to  the  door.  But  he  could  n't  see  plainly  at  first. 
The  group  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  building ;  the 
moon  was  behind.  He  knew  that  the  clan  had 
brought  their  horses  and  were  waiting  for  Simon's 
command.  They  loosened  the  ropes  from  about 


194      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

his  ankles,  and  two  of  the  clansmen  swung  him  on 
to  the  back  of  a  horse.  Then  they  passed  a  rope 
under  the  horse's  belly  and  tied  his  ankles  anew. 

Simon  gave  a  command,  and  the  strange  file 
started.  The  night  air  dispelled  the  mists  in 
Bruce's  brain,  and  full  realization  of  all  things  came 
to  him  again.  One  of  the  men  —  he  recognized 
him  as  Young  Bill  —  led  the  horse  on  which  he  rode. 
Two  of  the  clansmen  rode  in  front,  grim,  silent,  in- 
credibly tall  figures  in  the  moonlight.  The  remain- 
der rode  immediately  behind.  Simon  himself, 
bowed  in  his  saddle,  kept  a  little  to  one  side.  Their 
shadows  were  long  and  grotesque  on  the  soft  grass 
of  the  meadows,  and  the  only  sound  was  the  soft 
footfall  of  their  mounts. 

A  full  mile  distant  across  the  lush  fields  the  cav- 
alcade halted  about  a  grotesque  shadow  in  the  grass. 
Bruce  did  n't  have  to  look  at  it  twice  to  know  what 
it  was:  the  half -devoured  body  of  the  yearling  calf 
that  had  been  the  Killer's  prey  the  night  before. 
From  thence  on,  their  operations  became  as  outland- 
ish occurrences  in  a  dream.  They  seemed  to  know 
just  what  to  do.  They  took  him  from  the  saddle 
and  bound  his  feet  again ;  then  laid  him  in  the  fra- 
grant grass.  They  searched  his  pockets,  taking  the 
forged  note  that  had  led  to  his  downfall.  "  It  saves 
me  a  trip,"  Simon  commented.  He  saw  two  of 
them  lift  the  torn  body  of  the  animal  on  to  the  back 
of  one  of  the  horses,  and  he  watched  dully  as  the 
horse  plunged  and  wheeled  under  the  unfamiliar 
weight.  He  thought  for  an  instant  that  it  would 
step  upon  his  own  prone  body,  but  he  did  n't  flinch. 


The   Blood  Atonement        195 

Simon  spoke  in  the  silence,  but  his  words  seemed  to 
come  from  far  away. 

"  Quiet  that  horse  or  kill  him,"  he  said  softly. 
6  You  can't  drag  the  carcass  with  your  rope  —  the 
Killer  would  trace  it  if  you  did  and  maybe  spoil  the 
evening  for  Bruce." 

Strong  arms  sawed  at  the  bits,  and  the  horse 
quieted,  trembling.  For  a  moment  Bruce  saw  their 
wiiite  moonlit  faces  as  they  stared  down  at  him. 

"  What  about  a  gag?  "  one  of  them  asked. 

"  No.  Let  him  shout  if  he  likes.  There  is  no 
one  to  hear  him  here." 

Then  the  tall  men  swung  on  their  horses  and 
headed  back  across  the  fields.  Bruce  watched  them 
dully.  Their  forms  grew  constantly  more  dim,  the 
sense  of  utter  isolation  increased.  Then  he  saw  the 
file  pause,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  words,  too  faint 
for  him  to  understand,  reached  him  across  the  moon- 
lit spaces.  Then  one  of  the  party  turned  off  to- 
ward the  ridge. 

He  guessed  that  it  was  Simon.  He  thought  the 
man  was  riding  toward  Linda's  home. 

He  watched  until  the  shadows  had  hidden  them 
all.  Then,  straining  upward,  he  tested  his  bonds. 
He  tugged  with  the  full  strength  of  his  arms,  but 
there  was  not  the  play  of  an  inch  between  his  wrists. 
The  Turners  had  done  their  work  well.  Not  the 
slightest  chance  of  escape  lay  in  this  quarter. 

He  wrenched  himself  to  one  side,  then  looked 
about  him.  The  fields  stretched  even  and  distant 
on  one  side,  but  he  saw  that  the  dark  forest  was  but 
fifty  yards  away  on  the  other.  He  listened;  and 


196      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

the  little  night  sounds  reached  him  clearly.  They 
had  been  sounds  to  rejoice  in  before,  —  impulses  to 
delightful  fancies  of  a  fawn  stealing  through  the 
thickets,  or  some  of  the  Little  People  in  their  scur- 
ried, tremulous  business  of  the  night  hours.  But 
lying  helpless  at  the  edge  of  the  forest,  they  were 
nothing  to  rejoice  in  now.  He  tried  to  shut  his  ears 
to  them. 

He  rolled  again  to  his  back  and  tried  to  find 
peace  for  his  spirit  in  the  stars.  There  were 
millions  of  them.  They  were  larger  and  more 
bright  than  any  time  he  had  ever  seen  them.  They 
stood  in  their  high  places,  wholly  indifferent  and 
impassive  to  all  the  strife  and  confusion  of  the  world 
below  them;  and  Bruce  wished  that  he  could 
partake  of  their  spirit  enough  so  that  he  could  rise 
above  the  fear  and  bitterness  that  had  begun  to  op- 
press him.  But  only  the  pines  could  talk  to  them. 
Only  the  tall  trees,  stretching  upward  toward  them, 
could  reach  into  their  mysterious  calm. 

His  eyes  discerned  a  thin  filament  of  cloud  that 
had  swept  up  from  behind  the  ridges,  and  the  sight 
recalled  him  to  his  own  position  with  added  force. 
The  moonlight,  soft  as  it  was,  had  been  a  tremen- 
dous relief  to  him.  At  least,  it  would  have  enabled 
him  to  keep  watch,  and  now  he  dreaded  the  fall  of 
utter  darkness  more  than  he  had  ever  dreaded  any- 
thing in  his  life.  It  was  an  ancient  instinct,  com- 
ing straight  from  the  young  days  of  the  world  when 
nightfall  brought  the  hunting  creatures  to  the 
mouth  of  the  cave,  but  he  had  never  really  experi- 
enced it  before.  If  the  clouds  spread,  the  moon 


The   Blood  Atonement        197 

that  was  his  last  remaining  solace  would  be  ob- 
scured. 

He  watched  with  growing  horror  the  slow  exten- 
sion of  the  clouds.  One  by  one  the  stars  slipped  be- 
neath them.  They  drew  slowly  up  to  the  moon 
and  for  a  long  minute  seemed  to  hover.  They  were 
not  heavy  clouds,  however,  and  in  their  thinner 
patches  the  stars  looked  dimly  through.  Finally 
the  moon  swept  under  them. 

The  shadow  fell  around  Bruce.  For  the  first 
time  he  knew  the  age-old  terror  of  the  darkness. 
Dreadful  memories  arose  within  him,  —  vague 
things  that  had  their  font  in  the  labyrinthal  depths 
of  the  germ-plasm.  It  is  a  knowledge  that  no  man, 
with  the  weapons  of  the  twentieth  century  in  his 
hands  and  in  the  glow  of  that  great  symbol  of  do- 
main, the  camp  fire,  can  really  possess;  but  here, 
bound  hand  and  foot  in  the  darkness,  full  under- 
standing came  to  Bruce.  He  no  longer  knew  him- 
self as  one  of  a  dominant  breed,  master  of  all  the 
wild  things  in  the  world.  He  was  simply  a  living 
creature  in  a  grim  and  unconquered  world,  alone 
and  helpless  in  the  terror  of  the  darkness. 

The  moonlight  alternately  grew  and  died  as  the 
moon  passed  in  and  out  of  the  heavier  cloud  patches. 
Winds  must  have  been  jlowing  in  the  high  lanes  of 
the  air,  but  there  was  no  breath  of  them  where  Bruce 
lay.  The  forests  were  silent,  and  the  little  rus- 
tlings and  stirrings  that  reached  him  from  time  to 
time  only  seemed  to  accentuate  the  quiet. 

He  speculated  on  how  many  hours  had  passed. 
He  wondered  if  he  could  dare  to  hope  that  midnight 


198      The  Strength   of  the   Pines 

had  already  gone  by  and,  through  some  divergence 
from  wilderness  customs,  the  grizzly  had  failed  to 
return  to  his  feast.  It  seemed  endless  hours  since 
he  had  reentered  the  empty  rooms  of  Linda's  home. 
A  wave  of  hope  crept  through  the  whole  hydraulic 
system  of  his  veins.  And  then,  as  a  sudden  sound 
reached  him  from  the  forests  at  one  side,  that  bright 
wave  of  hope  turned  black,  receded,  and  left  only 
despair. 

He  heard  the  sound  but  dimly.  In  fact,  except 
for  his  straining  with  every  nerve  alert,  he  might 
not  have  heard  it  at  all.  Nevertheless,  distance 
alone  had  dimmed  it;  it  had  been  a  large  sound  to 
start  with.  So  far  had  it  come  that  only  a  scratch 
on  the  eardrums  was  left  of  it;  but  there  was  no 
chance  to  misunderstand  it.  It  cracked  out  to 
him  through  the  unfathomable  silence,  and  all  the 
elements  by  which  he  might  recognize  it  were  dis- 
tinct. It  was  the  noise  of  a  heavy  thicket  being 
broken  down  and  parted  before  an  enormous  body. 

He  waited,  scarcely  breathing,  trying  to  tell  him- 
self he  had  been  mistaken.  But  a  wiser,  calmer 
self  deep  within  him  would  not  accept  the  lie.  He 
listened,  straining.  Then  he  heard  the  sound 
again. 

Whoever  came  toward  him  had  passed  the  heavy 
brush  by  now.  The  sounds  that  reached  him  were 
just  faint  and  intermittent  whispers,  —  first  of  a 
twig  cracking  beneath  a  heavy  foot,  then  the  rattle 
of  two  pebbles  knocked  together.  Long  moments 
of  utter  silence  would  ensue  between,  in  which  he 
could  hear  the  steady  drum  of  his  heart  in  his  breast 


The   Blood  Atonement        199 

and  the  long  roll  of  his  blood  in  his  veins.  The 
shadows  grew  and  deepened  and  faded  and  grew 
again,  as  the  moon  passed  from  cloud  to  cloud. 

The  limbs  of  a  young  fir  tree  rustled  and  whis- 
pered as  something  brushed  against  them.  Leaves 
flicked  together,  and  once  a  heavy  limb  popped  like 
a  distant  small-calibered  rifle  as  a  great  weight 
broke  it  in  two.  Then,  as  if  the  gods  of  the  wil- 
derness were  using  all  their  ingenuity  to  torture  him, 
the  silence  closed  down  deeper  than  ever  before. 

It  lasted  so  long  that  he  began  to  hope  again. 
Perhaps  the  sounds  had  been  made  by  a  deer  steal- 
ing on  its  way  to  feed  in  the  pastures.  Yet  he  knew 
the  step  had  been  too  heavy  for  anything  but  the 
largest  deer,  and  their  way  was  to  encircle  a  thicket 
rather  than  crash  through  it.  The  deer  make  it 
their  business  always  to  go  with  silence  in  these 
hours  when  the  beasts  of  prey  are  abroad,  and  usu- 
ally a  beetle  in  the  leaves  makes  more  noise  than 
they.  It  might  have  been  the  step  of  one  of  the 
small,  black  bears  —  a  harmless  and  friendly  wil- 
derness dweller.  Yet  the  impression  lingered  and 
strengthened  that  only  some  great  hunter,  a  beast 
who  feared  neither  other  beasts  nor  men,  had  been 
steadily  coming  toward  him  through  the  forest.  In 
the  long  silence  that  ensued  Bruce  began  to  hope 
that  the  animal  had  turned  off. 

At  that  instant  the  moon  slipped  under  a  partic- 
ularly heavy  fragment  of  cloud,  and  deep  darkness 
settled  over  him.  Even  his  white  face  was  no 
longer  discernible  in  the  dusk.  He  lay  scarcely 
breathing,  trying  to  fight  down  his  growing  terror. 


200      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

This  silence  could  mean  but  one  of  two  things. 
One  of  them  was  that  the  creature  who  had  made 
the  sounds  had  turned  off  on  one  of  the  many  inter- 
secting game  trails  that  wind  through  the  forest. 
This  was  his  hope.  The  alternative  was  one  of  de- 
spair. It  was  simply  that  the  creature  had  de- 
tected his  presence  and  was  stalking  him  in  silence 
through  the  shadows. 

He  thought  that  the  light  would  never  come. 
He  strained  again  at  his  ropes.  The  dark  cloud 
swept  on;  and  the  moonlight,  silver  and  bright, 
broke  over  the  scene. 

The  forest  stood  once  more  in  sharp  silhouette 
against  the  sky.  The  moon  stood  high  above  the 
tapering  tops  of  the  pines.  He  studied  with  strain- 
ing eyes  the  dark  fringe  of  shadows  one  hundred 
feet  distant.  And  at  first  he  could  see  only  the  ir- 
regularities cast  by  the  young  trees,  the  firs  be- 
tween which  lay  the  brush  coverts. 

Then  he  detected  a  strange  variation  in  the  dark 
border  of  shadows.  It  held  his  gaze,  and  its  out- 
lines slowly  strengthened.  So  still  it  stood,  so 
seemingly  a  natural  shadow  that  some  irregularly 
shaped  tree  had  cast,  that  his  eyes  refused  to  recog- 
nize it.  But  in  an  instant  more  he  knew  the  truth. 

The  shadow  was  that  of  a  great  beast  that  had 
stalked  him  clear  to  the  border  of  the  moonlight. 
The  Killer  had  come  for  his  dead. 


XXIV 

WHEN  Linda  returned  home  the  events  of  the 
night  partook  even  of  a  greater  mystery.  The 
front  door  was  open,  and  she  found  plenty  of  evi- 
dence that  Bruce  had  returned  from  his  journey. 
In  the  center  of  the  room  lay  his  pack,  a  rifle  slant- 
ing across  it. 

At  first  she  did  not  notice  the  gun  in  particular. 
She  supposed  it  was  Bruce's  weapon  and  that  he 
had  come  in,  dropped  his  luggage,  and  was  at  pres- 
ent somewhere  in  the  house.  It  was  true  that  one 
chair  was  upset,  but  except  for  an  instant's  start 
she  gave  no  thought  to  it.  She  thought  that  he 
would  probably  go  to  the  kitchen  first  for  a  bite 
to  eat.  He  was  not  in  this  room,  however,  nor 
had  the  lamp  been  lighted. 

Her  next  idea  was  that  Bruce,  tired  out,  had  gone 
to  bed.  She  went  back  softly  to  the  front  room, 
intending  not  to  disturb  him.  Once  more  she  no- 
ticed the  upset  chair.  The  longer  she  regarded  it, 
the  more  of  a  puzzle  it  became.  She  moved  over 
toward  the  pack  and  looked  casually  at  the  rifle. 
In  an  instant  more  it  was  in  her  hands. 

She  saw  at  once  that  it  was  not  Bruce's  gun. 
The  action,  make,  and  caliber  were  different.  She 
was  not  a  rifle-woman,  and  the  little  shooting  she 
had  done  had  been  with  a  pistol;  but  even  a  layman 


2O2      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

could  tell  this  much.  Besides,  it  had  certain  pecul- 
iar notches  on  the  stock  that  the  gun  Elmira  had 
furnished  Bruce  did  not  have. 

She  stood  a  moment  in  thought.  The  problem 
offered  no  ray  of  light.  She  considered  what 
Bruce's  first  action  would  have  been,  on  returning 
to  the  house  to  find  her  absent.  Possibly  he  had 
gone  in  search  of  her.  She  turned  and  went  to  the 
door  of  his  bedroom. 

She  knocked  on  it  softly.  "  Are  you  there, 
Bruce?  "  she  called. 

No  answer  returned  to  her.  The  rooms,  in 
fact,  were  deeply  silent.  She  tried  the  door 
and  found  it  unlocked.  The  room  had  not  been 
occupied. 

Thoroughly  alarmed,  she  went  back  into  the 
front  room  and  tried  to  decipher  the  mystery  of  the 
strange  weapon.  She  couldn't  conceive  of  any 
possibility  whereby  Bruce  would  exchange  his 
father's  trusted  gun  for  this.  Possibly  it  was  an 
extra  weapon  that  he  had  procured  on  his  journey. 
And  since  no  possible  gain  would  come  of  her  going 
out  into  the  forests  to  seek  him,  she  sat  down  to  wait 
for  his  return.  She  knew  that  if  she  did  start  out 
he  might  easily  return  in  her  absence  and  be  further 
alarmed. 

The  moments  dragged  by  and  her  apprehension 
grew.  She  took  the  rifle  in  her  hands  and,  slipping 
the  lever  part  way  back,  looked  to  see  if  there  were 
a  cartridge  in  the  barrel.  She  saw  a  glitter  of 
brass,  and  it  gave  her  a  measure  of  assurance.  She 
had  a  pistol  in  her  own  room  —  a  weapon  that  El- 


The   Blood   Atonement        203 

mira  had  procured,  years  before,  from  a  passing 
sportsman  —  and  for  a  moment  she  considered  get- 
ting it  also.  She  understood  its  action  better  and 
would  probably  be  more  efficient  with  it  if  the  need 
arose,  but  for  certain  never-to-be-forgotten  reasons 
she  wished  to  keep  this  weapon  until  the  moment  of 
utmost  need. 

Her  whole  stock  of  pistol  cartridges  consisted 
of  six  —  completely  filling  the  magazine  of  the  pis- 
tol. Closely  watched  by  the  Turners,  she  had  been 
unable  to  procure  more.  Many  a  dreadful  night 
these  six  little  cylinders  of  brass  had  been  a  tremen- 
dous consolation  to  her.  They  had  been  her  sole  de- 
fense, and  she  knew  that  in  the  final  emergency 
she  could  use  them  to  deadly  effect. 

Linda  was  a  girl  who  had  always  looked  her  sit- 
uations in  the  face.  She  was  not  one  to  flinch  from 
the  truth  and  with  false  optimism  disbelieve  it.  She 
had  the  courage  of  many  generations  of  frontiers- 
men and  woodsmen,  and  she  had  their  vision  too. 
She  knew  these  mountain  realms;  better  still  she 
understood  the  dark  passions  of  Simon  and  his  fol- 
lowers, and  this  little  half-pound  of  steel  and  wood 
with  its  brass  shells  might  mean,  in  the  dreadful 
last  moment  of  despair,  deliverance  from  them.  It 
might  mean  escape  for  herself  when  all  other  ways 
were  cut  off.  In  this  wild  land,  far  from  the 
reaches  of  law  and  without  allies  except  for  a  de- 
crepit old  woman,  the  pistol  and  its  deadly  loads 
had  been  her  greatest  solace. 

But  she  relied  on  the  rifle  now.  And  sitting  in 
the  shadow,  she  kept  watch  over  the  moonlit  ridge. 


204      The   Strength  of  the   Pines 

The  hotirs  passed,  and  the  clouds  were  starting 
up  from  the  horizon  when  she  thought  she  saw 
Bruce  returning.  A  tall  form  came  swinging 
toward  her,  over  the  little  trail  that  led  between  the 
tree  trunks.  She  peered  intently.  And  in  one 
instant  more  she  knew  that  the  approaching  figure 
was  not  Bruce,  but  the  man  she  most  feared  of  any 
one  on  earth,  Simon  Turner. 

She  knew  him  by  his  great  form,  his  swinging 
stride.  Her  thoughts  came  dear  and  true.  It 
was  obvicus  that  his  was  no  mission  of  stealth.  He 
was  coming  boldly,  freely,  not  furtively;  and  he 
must  have  known  that  he  presented  a  perfect  rifle 
target  from  the  windows.  Nevertheless,  it  is  well 
to  be  prepared  for  emergencies.  If  life  in  the 
mountains  teaches  anything,  it  teaches  that.  She 
took  the  rifle  and  laid  it  behind  a  little  desk,  out  of 
sight.  Then  she  went  to  the  door. 

"  I  want  to  come  in,  Linda,"  Simon  told  her. 

"  I  told  you  long  ago  you  could  n't  come  to  this 
house,"  Linda  answered  through  the  panels.  '  I 
want  you  to  go  away." 

Simon  laughed  softly.  "  You  'd  better  let  me 
in.  I  've  brought  word  of  the  child  you  took  to 
raise.  You  know  who  I  mean." 

Yes,  Linda  knew.  "Do  you  mean  Bruce?" 
she  asked.  "  I  let  Dave  in  to-night  on  the  same 
pretext.  Don't  expect  me  to  be  caught  twice  by 
the  same  lie." 

"  Dave?  Where  is  Dave?  "  The  fact  was  that 
the  whereabouts  of  his  brother  had  suddenly  be- 
come considerable  of  a  mystery  to  Simon.  All  the 


The   Blood  Atonement        205 

way  from  the  pasture  where  he  had  left  his  clan  he 
had  been  having  black  pictures  of  Dave.  He  had 
thought  about  him  and  Linda  out  in  the  darkness 
together,  and  his  heart  had  seemed  to  smolder  and 
burn  with  jealousy  in  his  breast.  It  had  been  a 
great  relief  to  him  to  find  her  in  the  house. 

"  I  wonder  —  where  he  is  by  now,"  Linda  an- 
swered in  a  strange  voice.  "  No  one  in  this  world 
can  answer  that  question,  Simon.  Tell  me  what 
you  want." 

She  opened  the  door.  She  could  n't  bear  to  show 
fear  of  this  man.  And  she  knew  that  an  appear- 
ance of  courage,  at  least,  was  the  wisest  course. 

"  No  matter  about  him  now.  I  want  to  talk  to 
you  on  business.  If  I  had  meant  rough  measures, 
I  wouldn't  have  come  alone." 

"  No,"  Linda  scorned.  "  You  would  have 
brought  your  whole  murdering  band  with  you. 
The  Turners  believe  in  overwhelming  numbers." 

The  words  stung  him  but  he  smiled  grimly  into 
her  face.  "  I  've  come  in  peace,  Linda,"  he  said, 
more  gently.  "  I  've  come  to  give  you  a  last  chance 
to  make  friends." 

He  walked  past  her  into  the  room.  He  straight- 
ened the  chair  that  had  been  upset,  smiling 
strangely  the  while,  and  sat  down  in  it. 

"  Then  tell  me  what  you  have  to  tell  me,"  she 
said.  "  I  'm  in  a  hurry  to  go  to  bed  —  and  this 
really  is  n't  the  hour  for  calls." 

He  looked  a  long  time  into  her  face.  She  found 
it  hard  to  hold  her  own  gaze.  Many  things  could 
be  doubted  about  this  man,  but  his  power  and  his 


206      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

courage  were  not  among  them.  The  smile  died 
from  his  lips,  the  lines  deepened  on  his  face.  She 
realized  as  never  before  the  tempestuous  passions 
and  unfathomable  intensity  of  his  nature. 

1  We  Ve  never  been  good  friends,"  Simon  went 
on  slowly. 

"  We  never  could  be,"  the  girl  answered. 
"  We  Ve  stood  for  different  things." 

"  At  first  my  efforts  to  make  friends  were  just  — 
to  win  you  over  to  our  side.  It  did  n't  work  —  all 
it  did  was  to  waken  other  desires  in  me  —  desires 
that  perhaps  have  come  to  mean  more  than  the 
possession  of  the  lands.  You  know  what  they  are. 
You  Ve  always  known  —  that  any  time  you  wished 
—  you  could  come  and  rule  my  house." 

She  nodded.  She  knew  that  she  had  won, 
against  her  will,  the  strange,  somber  love  of  this 
mighty  man.  She  had  known  it  for  months. 

"  As  my  wife  —  don't  make  any  mistake  about 
that.  Linda,  I  'm  a  stern,  hard  man.  I  Ve  never 
known  how  to  woo.  I  don't  know  that  I  want  to 
know  how,  the  way  it  is  done  by  weaker  men.  It 
has  never  been  my  way  to  ask  for  what  I  wanted. 
But  sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that  if  I  'd  been  a 
little  more  gentle  —  not  so  masterful  and  so  re- 
lentless —  that  I  'd  won  you  long  ago." 

Linda  looked  up  bravely  into  his  face.  "  No,  Si- 
mon. You  could  have  never  —  never  won  me !  Oh, 
can't  you  see  —  even  in  this  awful  place  a  woman 
wants  something  more  than  just  brute  strength 
and  determination.  Every  woman  prays  to  find 
strength  in  the  man  she  loves  —  but  it  is  n't  the  kind 


The   Blood  Atonement        207 

that  you  have,  the  kind  that  makes  your  men  grovel 
before  you,  and  makes  me  tremble  when  I  'm  talk- 
ing to  you.  It 's  a  big,  calm  strength  —  and  I 
can't  tell  you  what  it  is.  It 's  something  the  pines 
have,  maybe  —  strength  not  to  yield  to  the  pas- 
sions, but  to  restrain,  not  to  be  afraid  of,  but  to 
cling  to  —  to  stand  upright  and  honorable  and 
manly,  and  make  a  woman  strong  just  to  see  it  in 
the  man  she  loves." 

He  listened  gravely.  Her  cheeks  blazed.  It 
was  a  strange  scene  —  the  silent  room,  the  im- 
placable foes,  the  breathless  suspense,  the  prophecy 
and  inspiration  in  her  tones. 

"  Perhaps  I  should  have  been  more  gentle,"  he 
admitted.  "  I  might  have  forgotten  —  for  a  little 
while  —  this  surging,  irresistible  impulse  in  my 
muscles  —  and  tried  just  to  woo  you,  gently  and 
humbly.  But  it 's  too  late  now.  I  'm  not  a  fool. 
I  can't  expect  you  to  begin  at  the  beginning.  I 
can  only  go  on  in  my  own  way  —  my  hard,  remorse- 
less, ruthless  way. 

"  It  is  n't  every  man  who  is  brave  enough  to  see 
what  he  wants  and  knock  away  all  obstacles  to  get 
it,"  he  went  on.  "  Put  that  bravery  to  my  credit. 
To  pay  no  attention  to  methods,  only  to  look  for- 
ward to  the  result.  That  has  been  my  creed.  It 
is  my  creed  now.  Many  less  brave  men  would  fear 
your  hatred  —  but  I  don't  fear  it  as  long  as  I  pos- 
sess what  I  go  after  and  a  hope  that  I  can  get  you 
over  it.  Many  of  my  own  brothers  hate  me,  but 
yet  I  don't  care  as  long  as  they  do  my  will.  No 
matter  how  much  you  scorn  it,  this  bravery  has 


208      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

always  got  me  what  I  wanted,  and  it  will  get  me 
what  I  want  now." 

The  high  color  died  in  her  face.  She  wondered 
if  the  final  emergency  had  come  at  last. 

"  I  Ve  come  to  make  a  bargain.  You  can  take 
it  or  you  can  refuse.  On  one  side  is  the  end  of  all 
this  conflict,  to  be  my  wife,  to  have  what  you  want 
—  bought  by  the  rich  return  from  my  thousands 
of  acres.  And  I  love  you,  Linda.  You  know 
that." 

The  man  spoke  the  truth.  His  terrible,  dark 
love  was  all  over  him  —  in  his  glowing  eyes,  in  his 
drawn,  deeply-lined  face. 

"  In  time,  when  you  come  around  to  my  way  of 
thinking,  you  '11  love  me.  If  you  refuse  —  this  last 
time  —  I  Ve  got  to  take  other  ways.  On  that  side 
is  defeat  for  you  —  as  sure  as  day.  The  time  is 
almost  up  when  the  title  to  those  lands  is  secure. 
Bruce  is  in  our  hands  —  " 

She  got  up,  white- faced.     "  Bruce  —  ?  " 

He  arose  too.  "  Yes!  Did  you  think  he  could 
stand  against  us?  I  '11  show  him  to  you  in  the 
morning.  To-night  he  's  paying  the  price  for  ever 
daring  to  oppose  my  will." 

She  turned  imploring  eyes.  He  saw  them,  and 
perhaps  —  far  distant  —  he  saw  the  light  of 
triumph  too.  A  grim  smile  came  to  his  lips. 

"  Simon,"  she  cried.     "  Have  mercy." 

The  word  surprised  him.  It  was  the  first  time 
she  had  ever  asked  this  man  for  mercy.  "  Then 
you  surrender  —  ? " 

"  Simon,  listen  to  me,"  she  begged.     "  Let  him 


The   Blood   Atonement        209 

go  —  and  I  won't  even  try  to  fight  you  any  more. 
I  '11  let  you  keep  those  lands  and  never  try  any 
more  to  make  you  give  them  up.  You  and  your 
brothers  can  keep  them  forever,  and  we  won't  try 
to  get  revenge  on  you  either.  He  and  I  will  go 
away." 

He  gazed  at  her  in  deepening  wonderment.  For 
the  moment,  his  mind  refused  to  accept  the  truth. 
He  only  knew  that  since  he  had  faced  her  before, 
some  new,  great  strength  had  come  to  her,  —  that 
a  power  was  in  her  life  that  would  make  her  forego 
all  the  long  dream  of  her  days. 

He  had  known  perfectly  the  call  of  the  blood 
in  her.  He  had  understood  her  hatred  of  the 
Turners,  he  could  hate  in  the  same  way  himself. 
He  realized  her  love  for  her  father's  home  and  how 
she  had  dreamed  of  expelling  its  usurpers.  Yet 
she  was  willing  to  renounce  it  all.  The  power  that 
had  come  to  her  was  one  that  he,  a  man  whose  code 
of  life  was  no  less  cruel  and  remorseless  than  that  of 
the  Killer  himself,  could  not  understand. 

"  But  why?  "  he  demanded.  "  Why  are  you 
willing  to  do  all  this  for  him?  " 

"  Why?  "  she  echoed.  Once  more  the  luster  was 
in  her  dark  eyes.  "  I  suppose  it  is  because  —  I 
love  him." 

He  looked  at  her  with  slowly  darkening  face. 
Passion  welled  within  him.  An  oath  dropped  from 
his  lips,  blasphemous,  more  savage  than  any  wil- 
derness voice.  Then  he  raised  his  arm  and  struck 
her  tender  flesh. 

He  struck  her  breast.     The  brutality  of  the  man 


2io      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

stood  forth  at  last.  No  picture  that  all  the  dread- 
ful dramas  of  the  wild  could  portray  was  more 
terrible  than  this.  The  girl  cried  out,  reeled  and 
fell  fainting  from  the  pain,  and  with  smoldering 
eyes  he  gazed  at  her  unmoved.  Then  he  turned 
out  of  the  door. 

But  the  curtain  of  this  drama  in  the  mountain 
home  had  not  yet  rung  down.  Half -unconscious, 
she  listened  to  his  steps.  He  was  out  in  the  moon- 
light, vanishing  among  the  trees.  Strange  fancies 
swept  her,  all  in  the  smallest  fraction  of  an  instant, 
and  a  voice  spoke  clearly.  With  all  the  strength 
of  her  will  she  dispelled  the  mists  of  dawning  un- 
consciousness that  the  pain  had  wrought  and  crept 
swiftly  to  the  little  desk  placed  against  the  wall. 
Her  hand  fumbled  in  the  shadow  behind  it  and 
brought  out  a  glittering  rifle.  Then  she  crept  to 
the  open  doorway. 

Lying  on  the  floor,  she  raised  the  weapon  to  her 
shoulder.  Her  thumb  pressed  back,  strong  and 
unfaltering,  against  the  hammer;  and  she  heard  it 
click  as  it  sprung  into  place.  Then  she  looked 
along  the  barrel  until  she  saw  the  swinging  form  of 
Simon  through  the  sights. 

There  was  no  remorse  in  that  cold  gaze  of  hers. 
The  wings  of  death  hovered  over  the  man,  ready  to 
swoop  down.  Her  fingers  curled  tighter  about  the 
trigger.  One  ounce  more  pressure,  and  Simon's 
trail  of  wickedness  and  bloodshed  would  have  come 
to  an  end  at  last.  But  at  that  instant  her  eyes 
widened  with  the  dawn  of  an  idea. 

She  knew  this  man.     She  knew  the  hatred  that 


The   Blood  Atonement        211 

was  upon  him.  And  she  realized,  as  if  by  an  in- 
spiration from  on  High,  that  before  he  went  to  his 
house  and  to  sleep  he  would  go  once  more  into  the 
presence  of  Bruce,  confined  somewhere  among  these 
ridges  and  suffering  the  punishment  of  having  op- 
posed his  will.  Simon  would  want  one  look  to  see 
how  his  plan  was  getting  on;  perhaps  he  would 
want  to  utter  one  taunting  word.  And  Linda  saw 
her  chance. 

She  started  to  creep  out  of  the  door.  Then  she 
turned  back,  crawled  until  she  was  no  longer  re- 
vealed in  the  silhouette  of  the  lighted  doorway,  and 
got  swiftly  to  her  feet.  She  dropped  the  rifle  and 
darted  into  her  own  room.  There  she  procured  a 
weapon  that  she  trusted  more,  her  little  pistol, 
loaded  with  six  cartridges. 

If  she  had  understood  the  real  nature  of  the 
danger  that  Bruce  faced  she  would  have  retained 
the  rifle.  It  shot  with  many  times  the  smashing 
power  of  the  little  gun,  and  at  long  range  was  many 
times  as  accurate,  but  even  it  would  have  seemed  an 
ineffective  defense  against  such  an  enemy  as  was 
even  now  creeping  toward  Bruce's  body.  But 
she  knew  that  in  a  crisis,  against  such  of  the  Turn- 
ers as  she  thought  she  might  have  to  face,  it  would 
serve  her  much  better  than  the  more  awkward, 
heavier  weapon.  Besides,  she  knew  how  to  wield 
it,  and  all  her  life  she  had  kept  it  for  just  such  an 
emergency. 

The  pain  of  the  blow  was  quite  gone  now,  ex- 
cept for  a  strange  sickness  that  had  encompassed 
her.  But  she  was  never  colder  of  nerve  and  surer 


212      The   Strength  of  the   Pines 

of  muscle.  Cunningly  she  lay  down  again  before 
she  crept  through  the  door,  so  that  if  Simon 
chanced  to  look  about  he  would  fail  to  see  that  she 
followed  him.  She  crept  to  the  thickets,  then  stood 
up.  Three  hundred  yards  down  the  slope  she  could 
see  Simon's  dimming  figure  in  the  moonlight,  and 
swiftly  she  sped  after  him. 


XXV 

THE  shadow  that  Bruce  saw  at  the  edge  of  the 
forest  could  not  be  mistaken  as  to  identity.  The 
hopes  that  he  had  held  before  —  that  this  stalking 
figure  might  be  that  of  a  deer  or  an  elk  —  could  no 
longer  be  entertained.  Men  as  a  rule  do  not  love 
the  wild  and  wailing  sobs  of  a  coyote,  as  he  looks 
down  upon  a  camp  fire  from  the  ridge  above. 
Sleep  does  not  come  easily  when  a  gaunt  wolf  walks 
in  a  slow,  inquisitive  circle  about  the  pallet,  scarcely 
a  leaf  rustling  beneath  his  feet.  And  a  few  times, 
in  the  history  of  the  frontier,  men  have  had  queer 
tinglings  and  creepings  in  the  scalp  when  they  have 
happened  to  glance  over  their  shoulders  and  see 
the  eyes  of  a  great,  tawny  puma,  glowing  an  odd 
blue  in  the  firelight.  Yet  Bruce  would  have  had 
any  one  of  these,  or  all  three  together,  in  prefer- 
ence to  the  Killer. 

The  reason  was  extremely  simple.  No  words 
have  ever  been  capable  of  expressing  the  depths  of 
cowardice  of  which  a  coyote  is  capable.  He  will 
whine  and  weep  about  a  camp,  like  a  soul  lost  be- 
tween two  worlds,  but  if  he  is  in  his  right  mind  he 
would  have  each  one  of  his  gray  hairs  plucked  out, 
one  by  one,  rather  than  attack  a  man.  The  cun- 
ning breed  to  which  he  belongs  has  found  out  that 
it  does  n't  pay.  The  wolf  is  sometimes  disquiet- 


214      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

ingly  brave  when  he  is  fortified  by  his  pack  brethren 
in  the  winter,  but  in  such  a  season  as  this  he  is 
particularly  careful  to  keep  out  of  the  sight  of  man. 
And  the  Tawny  One  himself,  white-fanged  and 
long-clawed  and  powerful  as  he  is,  never  gets  far- 
ther than  certain  dreadful,  speculative  dreams. 

But  none  of  these  things  was  true  of  the  Killer. 
He  had  already  shown  his  scorn  of  men.  His  very 
stride  showed  that  he  feared  no  living  creature  that 
shared  the  forest  with  him.  In  fact,  he  considered 
himself  the  forest  master.  The  bear  is  never  a 
particularly  timid  animal,  and  whatever  timidity 
the  Killer  possessed  was  as  utterly  gone  as  yester- 
day's daylight. 

Bruce  watched  him  with  unwinking  eyes.  The 
shadow  wavered  ever  so  slightly,  as  the  Killer 
turned  his  head  this  way  and  that.  But  except  to 
follow  it  with  his  eyes,  Bruce  made  no  motion.  The 
inner  guardians  of  a  man's  life  —  voices  that  are 
more  to  be  relied  upon  than  the  promptings  of  any 
conscious  knowledge  —  had  already  told  him  what 
to  do.  These  monitors  had  the  wisdom  of  the  pines 
themselves,  and  they  had  revealed  to  him  his  one 
hope.  It  was  just  to  lie  still,  without  a  twitch  of  a 
muscle.  It  might  be  that  the  Killer  would  fail  to 
discern  his  outline.  Bruce  had  no  conscious  knowl- 
edge, as  yet,  that  it  is  movement  rather  than  form 
to  which  the  eyes  of  the  wild  creatures  are  most 
receptive.  But  he  acted  upon  that  fact  now  as  if 
by  instinct.  He  was  not  lying  in  quite  the  exact 
spot  where  the  Killer  had  left  his  dead  the  preced- 
ing night,  and  possibly  his  outline  was  not  enough 


The   Blood  Atonement        215 

like  it  to  attract  the  grizzly's  attention.  Besides, 
in  the  intermittent  light,  it  was  wholly  possible  that 
the  grizzly  would  try  to  find  the  remains  of  his 
feast  by  smell  alone;  and  if  this  were  lacking,  and 
Bruce  made  no  movements  to  attract  his  attention, 
he  might  wander  away  in  search  of  other  game. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Bruce  knew  Fear  as 
it  really  was.  It  is  a  knowledge  that  few  dwellers 
in  cities  can  possibly  have;  and  so  few  times  has  it 
really  been  experienced  in  these  days  of  civilization 
that  men  have  mostly  forgotten  what  it  is  like.  If 
they  experience  it  at  all,  it  is  usually  only  in  a 
dream  that  arises  from  the  germ-plasm,  —  a  night- 
mare to  paralyze  the  muscles  and  chill  the  heart  and 
freeze  a  man  in  his  bed.  The  moon  was  strange 
and  white  as  it  slipped  in  and  out  of  the  clouds,  and 
the  forest,  mysterious  as  Death  itself,  lightened  and 
darkened  alternately  with  a  strange  effect  of  un- 
reality; but  for  all  that,  Bruce  could  not  make  him- 
self believe  that  this  was  just  a  dream.  The  dread- 
ful reality  remained  that  the  Killer,  whose  name 
and  works  he  knew,  was  even  now  investigating 
him  from  the  shadows  one  hundred  feet  away. 

The  fear  that  came  to  him  was  that  of  the  young 
world,  —  fear  without  recompense,  direct  and  prim- 
itive fear  that  grew  on  him  like  a  sickness.  It  was 
the  fear  that  the  deer  knew  as  they  crept  down  their 
dusky  trails  at  night;  it  was  the  fear  of  darkness 
and  silence  and  pain  and  heaven  knows  what  cruelty 
that  would  be  visited  upon  him  by  those  terrible, 
rending  fangs  and  claws.  It  was  the  fear  that  can 
be  heard  in  the  pack  song  in  the  dreadful  winter 


216      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

season,  and  that  can  be  felt  in  strange  overtones,  in 
the  sobbing  wail  of  despair  that  the  coyote  utters  in 
the  half -darkness.  He  had  been  afraid  for  his  life 
every  moment  he  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Turners. 
He  knew  that  if  he  survived  this  night,  he  would 
have  to  face  death  again.  He  had  no  hopes  of  de- 
liverance altogether.  But  the  Turners  were  men, 
and  they  worked  with  knife  blade  and  bullet,  not 
rending  fang  and  claw.  He  could  face  men 
bravely ;  but  it  was  hard  to  keep  a  strong  heart  in 
the  face  of  this  ancient  fear  of  beasts. 

The  Killer  seemed  disturbed  and  moved  slowly 
along  the  edge  of  the  moonlight.  Bruce  could  trace 
his  movements  by  the  irregularity  in  the  line  of 
shadows.  He  seemed  to  be  moving  more  cau- 
tiously than  ever,  now.  Bruce  could  not  hear  the 
slightest  sound. 

For  an  instant  Bruce  had  an  exultant  hope  that 
the  bear  would  continue  on  down  the  edge  of  the 
forest  and  leave  him ;  and  his  heart  stood  still  as  the 
great  beast  paused,  sniffing.  But  some  smell  in 
the  air  seemed  to  reach  him,  and  he  came  stealing 
back. 

In  reality,  the  Killer  was  puzzled.  He  had  come 
to  this  place  straight  through  the  forest  with  the 
expectation  that  food  —  flesh  to  tear  with  his  fangs 
—  would  be  waiting  for  him.  Perhaps  he  had  no 
actual  memory  of  killing  the  calf  the  night  before. 
Possibly  it  was  only  instinct,  not  conscious  intelli- 
gence, that  brought  him  back  to  what  was  left  of 
his  feast  the  preceding  night.  And  now,  as  he 
waited  at  the  border  of  the  darkness,  he  knew  that 


The   Blood  Atonement        217 

a  strange  change  had  taken  place.  And  the  Killer 
did  not  like  strangeness. 

The  smell  that  he  had  expected  had  dimmed  to 
such  an  extent  that  it  promoted  no  muscular  im- 
pulse. Perhaps  it  was  only  obliterated  by  a 
stranger  smell,  —  one  that  was  vaguely  familiar 
and  wakened  a  slow,  brooding  anger  in  his  great 
beast's  heart. 

He  was  not  timid;  yet  he  retained  some  of  his 
natural  caution  and  remained  in  the  gloom  while  he 
made  his  investigations.  Probably  it  was  a  hunt- 
ing instinct  alone.  He  crept  slowly  up  and  down 
the  border  of  moonlight,  and  his  anger  seemed  to 
grow  and  deepen  within  him.  He  felt  dimly  that 
he  had  been  cheated  out  of  his  meal.  And  once  be- 
fore he  had  been  similarly  cheated;  but  there  had 
been  singular  triumph  at  the  end  of  that  experi- 
ence. 

All  at  once  a  movement,  far  across  the  pasture, 
caught  his  attention.  Remote  as  it  was,  he  identi- 
fied the  tall  form  at  once;  it  was  just  such  a  crea- 
ture as  he  had  blasted  with  one  blow  a  day  or  two 
before.  But  it  dimmed  quickly  in  the  darkness. 
It  seemed  only  that  some  one  had  come,  taken  one 
glance  at  the  drama  at  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and 
had  departed.  Bruce  himself  had  not  seen  the 
figure ;  and  perhaps  it  was  the  mercy  of  Fate  —  not 
usually  merciful  —  that  he  did  not.  He  might 
have  been  caused  to  hope  again,  only  to  know  a 
deeper  despair  when  the  man  left  him  without  giv- 
ing aid.  For  the  tall  form  had  been  that  of  Simon 
coming,  as  Linda  had  anticipated,  for  a  moment's 


2  1 8      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

inspection,  of  his  handiwork.  And  seeing  that  it 
was  good,  he  had  departed  again. 

The  grizzly  watched  him  go,  then  turned  back  to 
his  questioning  regard  of  the  strange,  dark  figure 
that  lay  so  prone  in  the  grass  in  front.  The  dark- 
ness dropped  over  him  as  the  moon  went  behind  a 
heavy  patch  of  cloud. 

And  in  that  moment  of  darkness,  the  Killer  un- 
derstood. He  remembered  now.  Possibly  the  up- 
right form  of  Simon  had  suggested  it  to  him;  pos- 
sibly the  wind  had  only  blown  straighter  and  thus 
permitted  him  to  identify  the  troubling  smells.  All 
at  once  a  memory  flashed  over  him,  —  of  a  scene 
in  a  distant  glen,  and  similar  tall  figures  that  tried 
to  drive  him  from  his  food.  He  had  charged  then, 
struck  once,  and  one  of  the  forms  had  lain  very 
still.  He  remembered  the  pungent,  maddening 
odor  that  had  reached  him  after  his  blow  had  gone 
home.  Most  clearly  of  all,  he  remembered  how  his 
fangs  had  struck  and  sunk. 

He  knew  this  strange  shadow  now.  It  was  just 
another  of  that  tall  breed  he  had  learned  to  hate, 
and  it  was  simply  lying  prone  as  his  foe  had  done 
after  the  charge  beside  Little  River.  In  fact,  the 
still-lying  form  recalled  the  other  occasion  with 
particular  vividness.  The  excitement  that  he  had 
felt  before  returned  to  him  now ;  he  remembered  his 
disappointment  when  the  whistling  bullets  from  the 
hillside  above  had  driven  him  from  his  dead.  But 
there  were  no  whistling  bullets  now.  Except  for 
them,  there  would  have  been  further  rapture  beside 
that  stream;  but  he  might  have  it  now. 


The   Blood  Atonement        219 

His  fangs  had  sunk  home  just  once,  before,  and 
his  blood  leaped  as  he  recalled  the  passion  he  had 
felt.  The  old  hunting  madness  came  back  to  him. 
It  was  the  fair  game,  this  that  lay  so  still  in  the 
grass,  just  as  the  body  of  the  calf  had  been  and 
just  as  the  warm  body  of  Hudson  in  the  distant 
glen. 

The  wound  at  his  side  gave  him  a  twinge  of  pain. 
It  served  to  make  his  memories  all  the  clearer.  The 
lurid  lights  grew  in  his  eyes.  Rage  swept  over 
him. 

But  he  didn't  charge  blindly.  He  retained 
enough  of  his  hunting  caution  to  know  that  to  stalk 
was  the  proper  course.  It  was  true  that  there  was 
no  shrubbery  to  hide  him,  yet  in  his  time  he  had 
made  successful  stalks  in  the  open,  even  upon 
deer.  He  moved  farther  out  from  the  edge  of  the 
forest. 

At  that  instant  the  moon  came  out  and  revealed 
him,  all  too  vividly,  to  Bruce.  The  Killer's  great 
gray  figure  in  the  silver  light  was  creeping  toward 
him  across  the  silvered  grass. 

When  Linda  left  her  house,  her  first  realization 
was  the  need  of  caution.  It  would  not  do  to  let 
Simon  see  her.  And  she  knew  that  only  her  long 
training  in  the  hills,  her  practice  in  climbing  the 
winding  trails,  would  enable  her  to  keep  pace  with 
the  fast-walking  man  without  being  seen. 

In  her  concern  for  Bruce,  she  had  completely  for- 
gotten the  events  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  evening. 
Wild  and  stirring  though  they  were,  they  now 


22O      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

seemed  to  her  as  incidents  of  remote  years,  nothing 
to  be  remembered  in  this  hour  of  crisis.  But  she 
remembered  them  vividly  when,  two  hundred  yards 
from  the  house,  she  saw  two  strange  figures  coming 
toward  her  between  the  moonlit  tree  trunks. 

There  was  very  little  of  reality  about  either. 
The  foremost  figure  was  bent  and  strange,  but  she 
knew  that  it  could  be  no  one  but  Elmira.  The 
second,  however  —  half -obscured  behind  her  —  of- 
fered no  interpretation  of  outline  at  all  at  first. 
But  at  the  turn  of  the  trail  she  saw  both  figures  in 
vivid  profile.  Elmira  was  coming  homeward,  bent 
over  her  cane,  and  she  led  a  saddled  horse  by  its 
bridle  rein. 

Still  keeping  Simon  in  sight,  Linda  ran  swiftly 
toward  her.  She  did  n't  understand  the  deep  awe 
that  stole  over  her,  —  an  emotion  that  even  her 
fear  for  Bruce  could  not  transcend.  There  was  a 
quality  in  Elmira's  face  and  posture  that  she  had 
never  seen  before.  It  was  as  if  she  were  walking  in 
her  sleep,  she  came  with  such  a  strange  heaviness 
and  languor,  her  cane  creeping  through  the  pine 
needles  of  the  trail  in  front.  She  did  not  seem  to 
be  aware  of  Linda's  approach  until  the  girl  was  only 
ten  feet  distant.  Then  she  looked  up,  and  Linda 
saw  the  moonlight  on  her  face. 

She  saw  something  else  too,  but  she  did  n't  know 
what  it  was.  Her  own  eyes  widened.  The  thin 
lips  were  drooping,  the  eyes  looked  as  if  she  were 
asleep.  The  face  was  a  strange  net  of  wrinkles  in 
the  soft  light.  Terrible  emotions  had  but  recently 
died  and  left  their  ashes  upon  it.  But  Linda  knew 


The   Blood  Atonement        221 

that  this  was  no  time  to  stop  and  wonder  and  ask 
questions. 

"  Give  me  the  horse,"  she  commanded.  "  I  'nx 
going  to  help  Bruce." 

"  You  can  have  it,"  Elmira  answered  in  an  un- 
familiar voice.  "  It 's  the  horse  that  —  that  Dave 
Turner  rode  here  —  and  he  won't  want  him  any 


more." 


Linda  took  the  rein,  passed  it  over  the  horse's 
head,  and  started  to  swing  into  the  saddle.  Then 
she  turned  with  a  gasp  as  the  woman  slipped  some- 
thing into  her  hand. 

Linda  looked  down  and  saw  it  was  the  hilt  of 
the  knife  that  Elmira  had  carried  with  her  when  the 
two  women  had  gone  with  Dave  into  the  woods. 
The  blade  glittered;  but  Linda  was  afraid  to  look 
at  it  closely.  '  You  might  need  that,  too,"  the  old 
woman  said.  "It  may  be  wet  —  I  can't  remember, 
But  take  it,  anyway." 

Linda  hardly  heard.  She  thrust  the  blade  into 
the  leather  of  the  saddle,  then  swung  on  her  horse. 
Once  more  she  sought  Simon's  figure.  Far  away 
she  saw  it,  just  as  it  vanished  into  the  heavy  timber 
on  top  of  the  hill. 

She  rode  swiftly  until  she  began  to  fear  that  he 
might  hear  the  hoof  beat  of  her  mount;  then  she 
drew  up  to  a  walk.  And  when  she  had  crested  the 
hill  and  had  followed  down  its  long  slope  into  the 
glen,  the  moon  went  under  the  clouds  for  the  first 
time. 

She  lost  sight  of  Simon  at  once.  Seemingly  her 
effort  to  save  Bruce  had  come  to  nothing,  after  all. 


222      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

But  she  didn't  turn  back.  There  were  light 
patches  in  the  sky,  and  the  moon  might  shine  forth 
again. 

She  followed  down  the  trail  toward  the  cleared 
lands  that  the  Turners  cultivated.  She  went  to 
their  very  edge.  It  was  a  rather  high  point,  so  she 
waited  here  for  the  moon  to  emerge  again.  Never, 
it  seemed  to  her,  had  it  moved  so  slowly.  But  all 
at  once  its  light  flowed  forth  over  the  land. 

Her  eyes  searched  the  distant  spaces,  but  she 
could  catch  no  glimpse  of  Simon  between  the  trees. 
Evidently  he  no  longer  walked  in  the  direction  of 
the  house.  Then  she  looked  out  over  the  tilled 
lands. 

Almost  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  she  saw  the 
flicker  of  a  miniature  shadow.  Only  the  vivid  qual- 
ity of  the  moonlight,  against  which  any  shadow  was 
clear-cut  and  sharp,  enabled  her  to  discern  it  at  all. 
It  was  Simon,  and  evidently  his  business  had  taken 
him  into  the  meadows.  Feeling  that  she  was  on 
the  right  track  at  last,  she  urged  her  horse  for- 
ward again,  keeping  to  the  shadow  of  the  timber  at 
first. 

Simon  walked  almost  parallel  to  the  dark  fringe 
for  nearly  a  mile;  then  turned  off  into  the  tilled 
lands.  She  rode  opposite  him  and  reined  in  the 
horse  to  watch. 

When  the  distance  had  almost  obscured  him,  she 
saw  him  stop.  He  waited  a  long  time,  then  turned 
back.  The  moon  went  in  and  out  of  the  clouds. 
Then,  trusting  to  the  distance  to  conceal  her,  Linda 
rode  slowly  out  into  the  clearing. 


The   Blood   Atonement        223 

Simon  reentered  the  timber,  his  inspection  seem- 
ingly done,  and  Linda  still  rode  in  the  general  di- 
rection he  had  gone.  The  darkness  fell  again,  and 
for  the  space  of  perhaps  five  minutes  all  the  sur- 
roundings were  obscured.  A  curious  sense  of  im- 
pending events  came  over  her  as  she  headed  on 
toward  the  distant  wall  of  forest  beyond. 

Then,  the  clouds  slowly  dimming  under  the 
moon,  the  light  grew  with  almost  imperceptible  en- 
croachments. At  first  it  was  only  bright  enough 
to  show  her  own  dim  shadow  on  the  grass.  The 
utter  gloom  that  was  over  the  fields  lessened  and 
drew  away  like  receding  curtains ;  her  vision  reached 
ever  farther,  the  shadows  grew  more  clearly  out- 
lined and  distinct.  Then  the  moon  rolled  forth 
into  a  wholly  open  patch  of  sky  —  a  white  sphere 
with  a  sprinkling  of  vivid  stars  around  it  —  and  the 
silver  radiance  poured  down. 

It  was  like  the  breaking  of  dawn.  The  fields 
stretched  to  incredible  distances  about  her.  The 
forest  beyond  emerged  in  distinct  outline ;  she  could 
see  every  irregularity  in  the  plain.  And  in  one  in- 
stant's glance  she  knew  that  she  had  found  Bruce. 

His  situation  went  home  to  her  in  one  sweep  of 
the  eyes.  Bruce  was  not  alone.  Even  now  a  great, 
towering  figure  was  creeping  toward  him  from  the 
forest.  Linda  cried  out,  and  with  the  long  strap 
of  her  rein  lashed  her  horse  into  the  fastest  pace 
it  knew. 

Bruce  did  not  hear  her  come.  He  lay  in  the  soft 
grass,  waiting  for  death.  A  great  calm  had  come 


224      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

upon  him;  a  strange,  quiet  strength  that  the  pines 
themselves  might  have  lent  to  him ;  and  he  made  no 
cry.  In  this  dreadful  last  moment  of  despair  the 
worst  of  his  terror  had  gone  and  left  his  thoughts 
singularly  clear.  And  but  one  desire  was  left  to 
him:  that  the  Killer  might  be  merciful  and  end  his 
frail  existence  with  one  blow. 

It  was  not  a  great  deal  to  ask  for;  but  he  knew 
perfectly  that  only  by  the  mercy  of  the  forest  gods 
could  it  come  to  pass.  They  are  usually  not  so  kind 
to  the  dying;  and  it  is  not  the  wild-animal  way  to 
take  pains  to  kill  at  the  first  blow.  Yet  his  eyes 
held  straight.  The  Killer  crept  slowly  toward  him ; 
more  and  more  of  his  vast  body  was  revealed  above 
the  tall  heads  of  the  grass.  And  now  all  that  Bruce 
knew  was  a  great  wonder,  —  a  strange  expectancy 
and  awe  of  what  the  opening  gates  of  darkness 
would  reveal. 

The  Killer  moved  with  dreadful  slowness  and  de- 
liberation. He  was  no  longer  afraid.  It  was  just 
as  it  had  been  before,  —  a  warm  figure  lying  still 
and  helpless  for  his  own  terrible  pleasure.  A  few 
more  steps  and  he  would  be  near  enough  to  see 
plainly ;  then  —  after  the  grizzly  habit  —  to  fling 
into  the  charge.  It  was  his  own  way  of  hunting,  - 
to  stalk  within  a  few  score  of  feet,  then  to  make  a 
furious,  resistless  rush.  He  paused,  his  muscles 
setting.  And  then  the  meadows  suddenly  rang 
with  the  undulations  of  his  snarl. 

Almost  unconscious,  Bruce  did  not  understand 
what  had  caused  this  utterance.  But  strangely, 
the  bear  had  lifted  his  head  and  was  staring  straight 


The   Blood  Atonement        225 

over  him.  For  the  first  time  Bruce  heard  the  wild 
beat  of  hoofs  on  the  turf  behind  him. 

He  did  n't  have  time  to  turn  and  look.  There 
was  no  opportunity  even  for  a  flood  of  renewed 
hope.  Events  followed  upon  one  another  with 
startling  rapidity.  The  sharp,  unmistakable  crack 
of  a  pistol  leaped  through  the  dusk,  and  a  bullet 
sung  over  his  body.  And  then  a  wild-riding  figure 
swept  up  to  him. 

It  was  Linda,  firing  as  she  came.  How  she  had 
been  able  to  control  her  horse  and  ride  him  into  that 
scene  of  peril  no  words  may  reveal.  Perhaps,  run- 
ning wildly  beneath  the  lash,  his  starting  eyes  did 
not  discern  or  interpret  the  gray  figure  scarcely  a 
score  of  yards  distant  from  Bruce;  and  it  is  true 
the  grizzly's  pungent  smell  —  a  thing  to  terrify 
much  more  and  to  be  interpreted  more  clearly  than 
any  kind  of  dim  form  in  the  moonlight  —  was 
blown  in  the  opposite  direction.  Perhaps  the  lash- 
ing strap  recalled  the  terrible  punishment  the  horse 
had  undergone  earlier  that  evening  at  the  hands  of 
Simon  and  no  room  was  left  for  any  lesser  terror. 
But  most  likely  of  all,  just  as  in  the  case  of  brave 
soldiers  riding  their  horses  into  battle,  the  girl's  own 
strength  and  courage  went  into  him.  Always  it 
has  been  the  same ;  the  steed  partook  of  its  rider's 
own  spirit. 

The  bear  reared  up,  snarling  with  wrath,  but  for 
a  moment  it  dared  not  charge.  The  sudden  ap- 
pearance of  the  girl  and  the  horse  held  him  momen- 
tarily at  bay.  The  girl  swung  to  the  ground  in 
one  leap,  fired  again,  thrust  her  arm  through  the 


226      The   Strength  of  the   Pines 

loop  of  the  bridle  rein,  then  knelt  at  Bruce's  side. 
The  white  blade  that  she  carried  in  her  left  hand 
slashed  at  his  bonds. 

The  horse,  plunging,  seemed  to  jerk  her  body 
back  and  forth,  and  endless  seconds  seemed  to  go 
by  before  the  last  of  the  thongs  was  severed.  In 
reality  the  whole  rescue  was  unbelievably  swift. 
The  man  helped  her  all  he  could.  '  Up  —  up  into 
the  saddle,"  she  commanded.  The  grizzly  growled 
again,  advancing  remorselessly  toward  them,  and 
twice  more  she  fired.  Two  of  the  bullets  went 
home  in  his  great  body,  but  their  weight  and  shock- 
ing power  were  too  slight  to  affect  him.  He  went 
down  once  more  on  all  fours,  preparing  to  charge. 

Bruce,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  his  limbs  had  been 
nearly  paralyzed  by  the  tight  bonds,  managed  to 
grasp  the  saddlehorn.  In  the  strength  of  new-born 
hope  he  pulled  himself  half  up  on  it,  and  he  felt 
Linda's  strong  arms  behind  him  pushing  up.  The 
horse  plunged  in  deadly  fear;  and  the  Killer  leaped 
toward  them.  Once  more  the  pistol  cracked.  Then 
the  horse  broke  and  ran  in  a  frenzy  of  terror. 

Bruce  was  full  in  the  saddle  by  then,  and  even 
at  the  first  leap  his  arm  swept  out  to  the  girl  on  the 
ground  beside  him.  He  swung  her  towards  him, 
and  at  the  same  time  her  hands  caught  at  the  arch- 
ing back  of  the  saddle.  Never  had  her  fine  young 
strength  been  put  to  a  greater  test  than  when  she 
tried  to  pull  herself  up  on  the  speeding  animal's 
back.  For  the  first  fifty  feet  she  was  half-dragged, 
but  slowly  —  with  Bruce's  help  —  she  pulled  her- 
self up  to  a  position  of  security. 


The   Blood   Atonement         227 

The  Killer's  charge  had  come  a  few  seconds  too 
late.  For  a  moment  he  raced  behind  them  in  in- 
sane fury,  but  only  his  savage  growl  leaped  through 
the  darkness  fast  enough  to  catch  up  with  them. 
And  the  distance  slowly  widened. 

The  Killer  had  been  cheated  again;  and  by  the 
same  token  Simon's  oath  had  been  proved  untrue. 
For  once  the  remorseless  strength  of  which;  he 
boasted  had  been  worsted  by  a  greater  strength ;  and 
love,  not  hate,  was  the  power  that  gave  it.  For 
once  a  girl's  courage  —  a  courage  greater  than  that 
with  which  he  obeyed  the  dictates  of  his  cruel  will 
—  had  cost  him  his  victory.  The  war  that  he  and 
his  outlaw  band  had  begun  so  long  ago  had  not  yet 
been  won. 

Indeed,  if  Simon  could  have  seen  what  the  moon 
saw  as  it  peered  out  from  behind  the  clouds,  he 
would  have  known  that  one  of  the  debts  of  blood 
incurred  so  many  years  ago  had  even  now  been 
paid.  Far  away  on  a  distant  hillside  there  was  one 
who  gave  no  heed  to  the  fast  hoof  beats  of  the 
speeding  horse.  It  was  Dave  Turner,  and  his 
trail  of  lust  and  wickedness  was  ended  at  last.  He 
lay  with  lifted  face,  and  there  were  curious  dark 
stains  on  the  pine  needles. 

It  was  the  first  blood  since  the  reopening  of  the 
feud.  And  the  pines,  those  tall,  dark  sentinels  of 
the  wilderness,  seemed  to  look  down  upon  him  in 
passionless  contemplation,  as  if  they  wondered  at 
the  stumbling  ways  of  men.  Their  branches  rubbed 
together  and  made  words  as  the  wind  swept  through 
them,  but  no  man  may  say  what  those  words  were. 


BOOK    THREE 

THE  COMING  OF  THE  STRENGTH 
XXVI 

FALL  was  at  hand  at  Trail's  End.  One  night, 
and  the  summer  was  still  a  joyous  spirit  in  the  land, 
birds  nested,  skies  were  blue,  soft  winds  wandered 
here  and  there  through  the  forest.  One  morning, 
and  a  startling  change  had  come  upon  the  wilder- 
ness world.  The  spirit  of  autumn  had  come  with 
golden  wings. 

The  wild  creatures,  up  and  about  at  their  pur- 
suits long  before  dawn,  were  the  first  to  see  the 
change.  A  buck  deer  —  a  noble  creature  with  six 
points  on  his  spreading  horns  —  got  the  first  ink- 
ling of  it  when  he  stopped  at  a  spring  to  drink.  It 
was  true  that  an  hour  before  he  had  noticed  a  cu- 
rious crispness  and  a  new  stir  in  the  air,  but  he  had 
been  so  busy  keeping  out  of  the  ambushes  of  the 
Tawny  One  that  he  had  not  noticed  it.  The  air 
had  been  chill  in  his  nostrils,  but  thanks  to  a  heavy 
growth  of  hair  that  —  with  mysterious  foresight  — 
had  begun  to  come  upon  his  body,  it  gave  him  no 
discomfort.  But  it  was  a  puzzling  and  significant 
thing  that  the  water  he  bent  to  drink  had  been 
transformed  to  something  hard  and  white  and 
burning  cold  to  the  tip  of  his  nose. 

It  was  the  first  real  freeze.     True,  for  the  past 


230      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

few  nights  there  had  been  a  measure  of  tinkling, 
cobweb  frost  on  the  ground  in  wet  places,  but  even 
the  tender-skinned  birds  —  always  most  watchful 
of  signs  of  this  kind  —  had  disregarded  it.  But 
there  was  no  disregarding  this  half -inch  of  blue  ice 
that  had  covered  the  spring.  The  buck  deer 
struck  it  angrily  with  his  front  hoofs,  broke  through 
and  drank ;  then  went  snorting  up  the  hill. 

His  anger  was  in  itself  a  significant  thing.  In 
the  long,  easy-going  summer  days,  Blacktail  had 
almost  forgotten  what  anger  was  like.  He  had 
been  content  to  roam  over  the  ridges,  cropping  the 
leaves  and  grass,  avoiding  danger  and  growing  fat. 
But  all  at  once  this  kind  of  existence  had  palled 
on  him.  He  felt  that  he  wanted  only  one  thing  — 
not  food  or  drink  or  safety  —  but  a  good,  slashing, 
hooking,  hoof -carving  battle  with  another  buck  of 
his  own  species.  An  unwonted  crossness  had  come 
upon  him,  and  his  soft  eyes  burned  with  a  blue  fire. 
He  remembered  the  does,  too  —  with  a  sudden  leap 
of  his  blood  —  and  wondered  where  they  were  keep- 
ing themselves.  Being  only  a  beast  he  did  not 
know  that  this  new  belligerent  spirit  was  ,iust  as 
much  a  sign  of  fall  as  the  soft  blush  that  was  com- 
ing on  the  leaves.  The  simple  fact  was  that  fall 
means  the  beginning  of  the  rut  —  the  wild  mating 
days  when  the  bucks  battle  among  themselves  and 
choose  their  harems  of  does. 

He  had  rather  liked  his  appearance  as  he  saw 
himself  in  the  water  of  the  spring.  The  last  of 
the  velvet  had  been  rubbed  from  his  horns,  and  the 
twelve  tines  (six  on  each  horn)  were  as  hard  and 


The   Coming  of  the  Strength      231 

almost  as  sharp  as  so  many  bayonet  points.  As 
the  morning  dawned,  the  change  in  the  face  of 
nature  became  ever  more  manifest.  The  leaves  of 
the  shrubbery  began  to  change  in  color.  The  wind 
out  of  the  north  had  a  keener,  more  biting  quality, 
and  the  birds  were  having  some  sort  of  exciting 
debate  in  the  tree  tops. 

The  birds  are  always  a  scurried,  nervous,  rather 
rattle-brained  outfit,  and  seem  wholly  incapable  of 
making  a  decision  about  anything  without  hours  of 
argument  and  discussion.  Their  days  are  simply 
filled  with  one  excitement  after  another,  and  they 
tell  more  scandal  in  an  hour  than  the  old  ladies  in  a 
resort  manage  in  the  entire  summer.  This  slow 
transformation  in  the  color  of  the  leaves,  not  to 
mention  the  chill  of  the  frost  through  their  scanty 
feathers,  had  created  a  sensation  from  one  end  of 
birdland  to  another.  And  there  was  only  one  thing 
to  do  about  it.  That  was  to  wait  until  the  darkness 
closed  down  again,  then  start  away  toward  the  path 
of  the  sun  in  search  of  their  winter  resorts  in  the 
south. 

The  ^Little  People  in  the  forest  of  ferns  beneath 
were  not  such  gay  birds,  and  they  did  not  have  such 
high-flown  ideas  as  these  feathered  folk  in  the 
branches.  They  didn't  talk  such  foolishness  and 
small  talk  from  dawn  to  dark.  They  did  n't  wear 
gay  clothes  that  were  n't  a  particle  of  good  to  them 
in  cold  weather.  You  can  imagine  them  as  be- 
ing good,  substantial,  middle-class  people,  much 
more  sober-minded,  tending  strictly  to  business  and 
working  hard,  and  among  other  things  they  saw  no 


232      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

need  of  flitting  down  to  southern  resorts  for  the 
cold  season.  These  people  —  being  mostly  ground 
squirrels  and  gophers  and  chipmunks  and  rabbits  - 
had  not  been  fitted  by  nature  for  wide  travel  and 
had  made  all  arrangements  for  a  pleasant  winter  at 
home.  You  could  almost  see  a  smile  on  the  fat  face 
of  a  plump  old  gopher  when  he  came  out  and  found 
the  frost  upon  the  ground;  for  he  knew  that  for 
months  past  he  had  been  putting  away  stores  for 
just  this  season.  In  the  snows  that  would  follow 
he  would  simply  retire  into  the  farthest  recesses  of 
his  burrow  and  let  the  winds  whistle  vainly  above 
him. 

The  larger  creatures,  however,  were  less  compla- 
cent. The  wolves  —  if  animals  have  any  powers 
of  foresight  whatever  —  knew  that  only  hard  days, 
not  luscious  nuts  and  roots,  were  in  store  for  them. 
There  would  be  many  days  of  hunger  once  the 
snow  came  over  the  land.  The  black  bear  saw  the 
signs  and  began  a  desperate  effort  to  lay  up  as 
many  extra  pounds  of  fat  as  possible  before  the 
snows  broke.  Ashur's  appetite  was  always  as 
much  with  him  as  his  bobbed-off  excuse  for  a  tail, 
and  as  he  was  more  or  less  indifferent  to  a  fair 
supply  of  dirt,  he  always  managed  to  put  away 
considerable  food  in  a  rather  astonishingly  short 
period  of  time;  and  now  he  tried  to  eat  all  the  faster 
in  view  of  the  hungry  days  to  come.  He  would 
have  need  of  the  extra  flesh.  The  time  was  com- 
ing when  all  sources  of  food  would  be  cut  off  by  the 
snows,  and  he  would  have  to  seek  the  security  of  hi- 
bernation. He  had  already  chosen  an  underground 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      233 

abode  for  himself  and  there  he  could  doze  away  in 
the  cold-trance  through  the  winter  months,  subsist- 
ing on  the  supplies  of  fat  that  he  had  stored  next  to 
his  furry  hide. 

The  greatest  of  all  the  bears,  the  Killer,  knew 
that  some  such  fate  awaited  him  also.  But  he 
looked  forward  to  it  with  wretched  spirit.  He  was 
master  of  the  forest,  and  perhaps  he  did  not 
like  to  yield  even  to  the  spirit  of  winter.  His  sav- 
agery grew  upon  him  every  day,  and  his  dislike 
for  men  had  turned  to  a  veritable  hatred.  But 
he  had  found  them  out.  When  he  crossed  their 
trails  again,  he  would  not  wait  to  stalk.  They 
were  apt  to  slip  away  from  him  in  this  case  and 
sting  him  unmercifully  with  bullets.  The  thing 
to  do  was  charge  quickly  and  strike  with  all  his 
power. 

The  three  minor  wounds  he  had  received  —  two 
from  pistol  bullets  and  one  from  Bruce's  rifle  — 
had  not  lessened  his  strength  at  all.  They  did, 
however,  serve  to  keep  his  blood-heat  at  the  explo- 
sive stage  most  of  the  day  and  night. 

The  flowers  and  the  grasses  were  dying ;  the  moths 
that  paid  calls  on  the  flowers  had  laid  their  eggs 
and  had  perished,  and  winter  lurked  —  ready  to 
pounce  forth  —  just  beyond  the  distant  mountains. 
There  is  nothing  so  thoroughly  unreliable  as  the 
mountain  autumn.  It  may  linger  in  entrancing 
golds  and  browns  month  after  month,  until  it  is  al- 
most time  for  spring  to  come  again;  and  again  it 
may  make  one  short  bow  and  usher  in  the  winter. 
To  Bruce  and  Linda,  in  the  old  Folger  home  in 


234      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

Trail's  End,  these  fall  days  offered  the  last  hope  of 
success  in  their  war  against  the  Turners. 

The  adventure  in  the  pasture  with  the  Killer  had 
handicapped  them  to  an  unlooked-for  degree. 
Bruce's  muscles  had  been  severely  strained  by  the 
bonds ;  several  days  had  elapsed  before  he  regained 
their  full  use.  Linda  was  a  mountain  girl,  hardy 
as  a  deer,  yet  her  nerves  had  suffered  a  greater 
shock  by  the  experience  than  either  of  them  had 
guessed.  The  wild  ride,  the  fear  and  the  stress, 
and  most  of  all  the  base  blow  that  Simon  had  dealt 
her  had  been  too  much  even  for  her  strong  consti- 
tution ;  and  she  had  been  obliged  to  go  to  bed  for  a 
few  days  of  rest.  Old  Elmira  worked  about  the 
house  the  same  as  ever,  but  strange,  new  lights  were 
in  her  eyes.  For  reasons  that  went  down  to  the 
roots  of  things,  neither  Bruce  nor  Linda  questioned 
her  as  to  her  scene  with  Dave  Turner  in  the  coverts ; 
and  what  thoughts  dwelt  in  her  aged  mind  neither 
of  them  could  guess. 

The  truth  was  that  in  these  short  weeks  of  trial 
and  danger  whatever  dreadful  events  had  come  to 
pass  in  that  meeting  were  worth  neither  thought  nor 
words.  Both  Bruce  and  Linda  were  down  to  es- 
sentials. It  is  a  descent  that  most  human  beings  — 
some  time  in  their  lives — find  they  are  able  to 
make ;  and  there  was  no  room  for  sentimentality  or 
hysteria  in  this  grim  household.  The  ideas,  the 
softnesses,  the  laws  of  the  valleys  were  far  away 
from  them;  they  were  face  to  face  with  realities. 
Their  code  had  become  the  basic  code  of  life :  to  kill 
for  self -protection  without  mercy  or  remorse. 


The   Coming  of  the  Strength      235 

They  did  not  know  when  the  Turners  would  at- 
tack. It  was  the  dark  of  the  moon,  and  the  men 
would  be  able  to  approach  the  house  without  pre- 
senting themselves  as  targets  for  Bruce's  rifle.  The 
danger  was  not  a  thing  on  which  to  conjecture  and 
forget ;  it  was  an  ever-present  reality.  Never  they 
stepped  out  of  the  door,  never  they  crossed  a  lighted 
window,  never  a  pane  rattled  in  the  wind  but  that 
the  wings  of  Death  might  have  been  hovering  over 
them.  The  days  were  passing,  the  date  when  the 
chance  for  victory  would  utterly  vanish  was  almost 
at  hand,  and  they  were  haunted  by  the  ghastly  fact 
that  their  whole  defense  lay  in  a  single  thirty- 
thirty  rifle  and  five  cartridges.  Bruce's  own  gun 
had  been  taken  from  him  in  Simon's  house;  Linda 
had  emptied  her  pistol  at  the  Killer. 

"  We  've  got  to  get  more  shells,"  Bruce  told 
Linda.  "  The  Turners  won't  be  such  fools  as  to 
wait  until  we  have  the  moon  again  to  attack.  I 
can't  understand  why  they  haven't  already  come. 
Of  course,  they  don't  know  the  condition  of  our 
ammunition  supply,  but  it  does  n't  seem  to  me  that 
that  alone  would  have  held  them  off.  They  are 
sure  to  come  soon,  and  you  know  what  we  could  do 
with  five  cartridges,  don't  you? " 

"  I  know."  She  looked  up  into  his  earnest  face. 
"  We  could  die  —  that 's  all." 

"  Yes  —  like  rabbits.  Without  hurting  them 
at  all.  I  would  n't  mind  dying  so  much,  if 
I  did  plenty  of  damage  first.  It 's  death  for 
me,  anyway,  I  suppose  —  and  no  one  but  a  fool 
can  see  it  otherwise.  There  are  simply  too  many 


236      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

against  us.  But  I  do  want  to  make  some  payment 
first." 

Her  hand  fumbled  and  groped  for  his.  Her 
eyes  pled  to  him,  —  more  than  any  words.  "  And 
you  mean  you  Ve  given  up  hope?  "  she  asked. 

He  smiled  down  at  her,  —  a  grave,  strange  little 
smile  that  moved  her  in  secret  ways.  "  Not  given 
up  hope,  Linda,"  he  said  gently.  They  were  stand- 
ing at  the  door  and  the  sunlight  —  coming  low  from 
the  South  — was  on  his  face.  "  I  Ve  never  had  any 
hope  to  give  up  —  just  realization  of  what  lay 
ahead  of  us.  I  'm  looking  it  all  in  the  face  now, 
just  as  I  did  at  first." 

"  And  what  you  see  —  makes  you  afraid?  " 

Yet  she  need  not  have  asked  that  question.  His 
face  gave  an  unmistakable  answer:  that  this  man 
had  conquered  fear  in  the  terrible  night  with  the 
Killer.  "  Not  afraid,  Linda,"  he  explained,  "  only 
seeing  things  as  they  really  are.  There  are  too 
many  against  us.  If  we  had  that  great  estate  be- 
hind us,  with  all  its  wealth,  we  might  have  a  chance ; 
if  we  had  an  arsenal  of  rifles  with  thousands  of  car- 
tridges, we  might  make  a  stand  against  them.  But 
we  are  three  —  two  women  and  one  man  —  and 
one  rifle  between  us  all.  Five  little  shells  to  be  ex- 
pended in  five  seconds.  They  are  seven  or  eight, 
each  man  armed,  each  man  a  rifle-shot.  They  are 
certain  to  attack  within  a  day  or  two  —  before  we 
have  the  moon  again.  In  less  than  two  weeks  we 
can  no  longer  contest  their  title  to  the  estate.  A 
little  month  or  two  more  and  we  will  be  snowed  in 
—  with  no  chance  to  get  out  at  all." 


The   Coining  of  the  Strength      237 

"  Perhaps  before  that,"  she  told  him. 

"  Yes.     Perhaps  before  that." 

They  found  a  confirmation  of  this  prophecy  in 
the  signs  of  fall  without  —  the  coloring  leaves,  the 
dying  flowers,  the  new,  cold  breath  of  the  wind. 
Only  the  pines  remained  unchanged ;  they  were  the 
same  grave  sentinels  they  always  were. 

"And  you  can  forgive  me?"  Linda  asked 
humbly. 

"  Forgive  you?  "  The  man  turned  to  her  in  sur- 
prise. "  What  have  you  done  that  needs  to  be  for- 
given? " 

"  Oh,  don't  you  see?  To  bring  you  here  —  out 
of  your  cities  —  to  throw  your  lif e  away.  To  en- 
list you  in  a  fight  that  you  can't  hope  to  win.  I  've 
killed  you,  that 's  all  I  've  done.  Perhaps  to-night 
—  perhaps  a  few  days  later." 

He  nodded  gravely. 

"  And  I  Ve  already  killed  your  smile,"  she  went 
on,  looking  down.  '  You  don't  smile  any  more 
the  way  you  used  to.  You  're  not  the  boy  you  were 
when  you  came.  Oh,  to  think  of  it  —  that  it 's  all 
been  my  work.  To  kill  your  youth,  to  lead  you 
into  this  slaughter  pen  where  nothing  —  noth- 
ing lives  but  death  —  and  hatred  —  and  unhappi- 


ness." 


The  tears  leaped  to  her  eyes.  He  caught  her 
hands  and  pressed  them  between  his  until  pain 
came  into  her  fingers.  "  Listen,  Linda,"  he  com- 
manded. She  looked  straight  up  at  him.  "  Are 
you  sorry  I  came?  " 

"  More  than  I  can  tell  you  —  for  your  sake." 


238      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

"  But  when  people  look  for  the  truth  in  this 
world,  Linda,  they  don't  take  any  one's  sake  into 
consideration.  They  balance  all  things  and  give 
them  their  true  worth.  Would  you  rather  that  you 
and  I  had  never  met  —  that  I  had  never  received 
Elmira's  message  —  that  you  should  live  your  life 
up  here  without  ever  hearing  of  me?  " 

She  dropped  her  eyes.  "It  is  n't  fair  —  to  ask 
me  that  — 

"  Tell  me  the  truth.  Has  n't  it  been  worth 
while?  Even  if  we  lose  and  die  before  this  night 
is  done,  hasn't  it  all  been  worth  while?  Are  you 
sorry  you  have  seen  me  change?  Is  n't  the  change 
for  the  better  —  a  man  grown  instead  of  a  boy? 
One  who  looks  straight  and  sees  clear?" 

He  studied  her  face;  and  after  a  while  he  found 
his  answer.  It  was  not  in  the  form  of  words  at 
first.  As  a  man  might  watch  a  miracle  he  watched 
a  new  light  come  into  her  dark  eyes.  All  the  gloom 
and  sorrow  of  the  wilderness  without  could  not  af- 
fect its  quality.  It  was  a  light  of  joy,  of  exulta- 
tion, of  new-found  strength. 

"  You  had  n't  ought  to  ask  me  that,  Bruce,"  she 
said  with  a  rather  strained  distinctness.  "  It  has 
been  like  being  born  again.  There  are  n't  any 
words  to  tell  you  what  it  has  meant  to  me.  And 
don't  think  I  haven't  seen  the  change  in  you,  too 
—  the  birth  of  a  new  strength  that  every  day  is 
greater,  higher — until  it  is — almost  more  than  I 
can  understand.  The  old  smiles  are  gone,  but 
something  else  has  taken  their  place  —  something 
much  more  dear  to  me  —  but  what  it  is  I  can  hardly 


The   Coming   of  the   Strength      239 

tell  you.     Maybe  it 's  something  that  the  pines 
have." 

But  he  hadn't  wholly  forgotten  how  to  smile. 
His  face  lighted  as  remembrance  came  to  him. 
"  They  are  a  different  kind  of  smiles  —  that 's  all," 
he  explained.  "  Perhaps  there  will  be  many  of 
them  in  the  days  to  come.  Linda,  I  have  no  re- 
grets. I  Ve  played  the  game.  Whether  it  was 
Destiny  that  brought  me  here,  or  only  chance,  or 
perhaps  —  if  we  take  just  life  and  death  into  con- 
sideration —  just  misfortune,  whatever  it  is  I  feel 
no  resentment  toward  it.  It  has  been  the  worth- 
while adventure.  In  the  first  place,  I  love  the 
woods.  There  's  something  else  in  them  besides 
death  and  hatred  and  unhappiness.  Besides,  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  can  understand  the  whole  world 
better  than  I  used  to.  Maybe  I  can  begin  to  see  a 
big  purpose  and  theme  running  through  it  all — 
but  it 's  not  yet  clear  enough  to  put  into  words. 
Certain  things  in  this  world  are  essentials,  certain 
other  ones  are  froth.  And  I  see  which  things  be- 
long to  one  class  and  which  to  another  so  much 
more  clearly  than  I  did  before.  One  of  the  things 
that  matters  is  throwing  one's  whole  life  into  what- 
ever task  he  has  set  out  to  do  —  whether  he  fails  or 
succeeds  doesn't  seem  greatly  to  matter.  The 
main  thing,  it  appears  to  me,  is  that  he  has  tried. 
To  stand  strong  and  kind  of  calm,  and  not  be 
afraid  —  if  I  can  always  do  it,  Linda,  it  is  all  I  ask 
for  myself.  Not  to  flinch  now.  Not  to  give  up  as 
long  as  I  have  the  strength  for  another  step.  And 
to  have  you  with  me —  all  the  way." 


240      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

"  Then  you  and  I  —take  fresh  heart?  " 

"  We  Ve  never  lost  heart,  Linda." 

"  Not  to  give  up,  but  only  be  glad  we  Ve  tried?  " 

"  Yes.     And  keep  on  trying." 

"With  no  regrets?" 

"  None  —  and  maybe  to  borrow  a  little  strength 
from  the  pines !  " 

This  was  their  new  pact.  To  stand  firm  and 
strong  and  unflinching,  and  never  to  yield  as  long 
as  an  ounce  of  strength  remained.  As  if  to  seal  it, 
her  arms  crept  about  his  neck  and  her  soft  lips 
pressed  his. 


XXVII 

TOWARD  the  end  of  the  afternoon  Linda  saddled 
the  horse  and  rode  down  the  trail  toward  Martin's 
store.  She  had  considerable  business  to  attend  to. 
Among  other  things,  she  was  going  to  buy  thirty- 
thirty  cartridges,  —  all  that  Martin  had  in  stock. 
She  had  some  hope  of  securing  an  extra  gun  or  two 
with  shells  to  match.  The  additional  space  in  her 
pack  was  to  be  filled  with  provisions. 

For  she  was  faced  with  the  unpleasant  fact  that 
her  larder  was  nearly  empty.  The  jerked  venison 
was  almost  gone ;  only  a  little  flour  and  a  few  canned 
things  remained.  She  had  space  for  only  small 
supplies  on  the  horse's  back,  and  there  would  be  no 
luxuries  among  them.  Their  fare  had  been  plain 
up  to  this  time ;  but  from  now  on  it  was  to  consist 
of  only  such  things  as  were  absolutely  necessary  to 
sustain  life. 

She  rode  unarmed.  Without  informing  him  of 
the  fact,  the  rifle  had  been  left  for  Bruce.  She  did 
not  expect  for  herself  a  rifle  shot  from  ambush  — 
for  the  simple  reason  that  Simon  had  bidden  other- 
wise —  and  Bruce  might  be  attacked  at  any  mo- 
ment. 

She  was  dreaming  dreams,  that  day.  The  talk 
with  Bruce  had  given  her  fresh  heart,  and  as  she 
rode  down  the  sunlit  trail  the  future  opened  up  en- 


242      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

trancing  vistas  to  her.  Perhaps  they  yet  could 
conquer,  and  that  would  mean  reestablishment  on 
the  far-flung  lands  of  her  father.  Matthew  Folger 
had  possessed  a  fertile  farm  also,  and  its  green  pas- 
tures might  still  be  utilized.  It  suddenly  occurred 
to  her  that  it  would  be  of  interest  to  turn  off  the 
main  trail,  take  a  little  dim  path  up  the  ridge  that 
she  had  discovered  years  before,  and  look  over 
these  lands.  The  hour  was  early;  besides,  Bruce 
would  find  her  report  of  the  greatest  interest. 

She  jogged  slowly  along  in  the  Western  fashion, 
—  which  means  something  quite  different  from 
army  fashion  or  sportsman  fashion.  Western 
riders  do  not  post.  Riding  is  not  exercise  to  them; 
it  is  rest.  They  hang  limp  in  the  saddle,  and  all 
jar  is  taken  up,  as  if  by  a  spring,  somewhere  in  the 
region  of  the  floating  ribs  that  only  a  physician 
can  correctly  designate.  They  never  sit  firm,  these 
Western  riders,  and  as  a  rule  their  riding  is  not  a 
particularly  graceful  thing  to  watch.  But  they  do 
not  care  greatly  about  grace  as  long  as  they  may 
encompass  their  fifty  miles  a  day  and  still  be  fresh 
enough  for  a  country  dance  at  night.  There  are 
many  other  differences  in  Western  and  Eastern 
riding,  one  of  them  being  the  way  in  which  the 
horse  is  mounted.  Another  difference  is  the  riding 
habit.  Linda  had  no  trim  riding  trousers,  with  tall 
glossy  boots,  red  coat,  and  stock.  It  was  rather 
doubtful  whether  she  knew  such  things  existed. 
She  did,  however,  wear  a  trim  riding  skirt  of  khaki 
and  a  middie  blouse  washed  spotlessly  clean  by  her 
own  hands ;  and  no  one  would  have  missed  the  other 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      243 

things.  It  is  an  indisputable  fact  that  she  made  a 
rather  alluring  picture  —  eyes  bright  and  hair  dark 
and  strong  arms  bare  to  the  elbow  —  as  she  came 
riding  down  the  pine-needle  trail. 

She  came  to  the  opening  of  the  dimmer  trail  and 
turned  down  it.  She  did  not  jog  so  easily  now. 
The  descent  was  more  steep.  She  entered  a  still 
glen,  and  the  color  in  her  cheeks  and  the  soft  brown 
of  her  arms  blended  well  with  the  new  tints  of  the 
autumn  leaves.  Then  she  turned  up  a  long  ridge. 

The  trail  led  through  an  old  burn  —  a  bleak, 
eerie  place  where  the  fire  had  swept  down  the 
forest,  leaving  only  strange,  black  palings  here  and 
there — and  she  stopped  in  the  middle  of  it  to  look 
down.  The  mountain  world  was  laid  out  below  her 
as  clearly  as  in  a  relief  map.  Her  eyes  lighted  as 
its  beauty  and  its  fearsomeness  went  home  to  her, 
and  her  keen  eyes  slowly  swept  over  the  surround- 
ing hill  tops.  Then  for  a  long  moment  she  sat  very 
still  in  the  saddle. 

A  thousand  feet  distant,  on  the  same  ridge  on 
which  she  rode,  she  caught  sight  of  another  horse. 
It  held  her  gaze,  and  in  an  instant  she  discerned  the 
rather  startling  fact  that  it  was  saddled,  bridled, 
and  apparently  tied  to  a  tree.  Momentarily  she 
thought  that  its  rider  was  probably  one  of  the 
Turners  who  was  at  present  at  work  on  the  old 
Folger  farm;  yet  she  knew  at  once  the  tilled  lands 
were  still  too  far  distant  for  that.  She  studied 
closely  the  maze  of  light  and  shadow  of  the  under- 
brush and  in  a  moment  more  distinguished  the 
figure  of  the  horseman. 


244      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

It  was  one  of  the  Turners,  —  but  he  was  not 
working  in  the  fields.  He  was  standing  near  the 
animal's  head,  back  to  her,  and  his  rifle  lay  in  his 
arms.  And  then  Linda  understood. 

He  was  simply  guarding  the  trail  down  to  Mar- 
tin's store.  Except  for  the  fact  that  she  had  turned 
off  the  main  trail  by  no  possibility  could  she  have 
seen  him  and  escaped  whatever  fate  he  had  for  her. 

She  held  hard  on  her  faculties  and  tried  to  puzzle 
it  out.  She  understood  now  why  the  Turners  had 
not  as  yet  made  an  attack  upon  them  at  their  home. 
It  was  n't  the  Turner  way  to  wage  open  warfare. 
They  were  the  wolves  that  struck  from  ambush,  the 
rattlesnakes  that  lunged  with  poisoned  fangs  from 
beneath  the  rocks.  There  was  some  security  for 
her  in  the  Folger  home,  but  none  whatever  here. 
There  she  had  a  strong  man  to  fight  for  her,  a  loaded 
rifle,  and  under  ordinary  conditions  the  Turners 
could  not  hope  to  batter  down  the  oaken  door  and 
overwhelm  them  without  at  least  some  loss  of  life. 
For  all  they  knew,  Bruce  had  a  large  stock  of  rifles 
and  ammunition,  —  and  the  Turners  did  not  look 
forward  with  pleasure  to  casualties  in  their  ranks. 
The  much  simpler  way  was  to  watch  the  trail. 

They  had  known  that  sooner  or  later  one  of  them 
would  attempt  to  ride  down  after  either  supplies 
or  aid.  Linda  was  a  mountain  girl  and  she  knew 
the  mountain  methods  of  procedure ;  and  she  knew 
quite  well  what  she  would  have  had  to  expect  if  she 
had  not  discovered  the  ambush  in  time.  She  did  n't 
think  that  the  sentry  would  actually  fire  on  her;  he 
would  merely  shoot  the  horse  from  beneath  her. 


The   Coming  of  the  Strength      245 

It  would  be  a  simple  feat  by  the  least  of  the  Turn- 
ers, —  for  these  gaunt  men  were  marksmen  if  noth- 
ing else.  It  wouldn't  be  in  accord  with  Simon's 
plan  or  desire  to  leave  her  body  lying  still  on  the 
trail.  But  the  horse  killed,  flight  would  be  impos- 
sible, and  what  would  transpire  thereafter  she  did 
not  dare  to  think.  She  had  not  forgotten  Simon's 
threat  in  regard  to  any  attempt  to  go  down 
into  the  settlements.  She  knew  that  it  still  held 
good. 

Of  course,  if  Bruce  made  the  excursion,  the  sen- 
try's target  would  be  somewhat  different.  He 
would  shoot  him  down  as  remorselessly  as  he  would 
shatter  a  lynx  from  a  tree  top. 

The  truth  was  that  Linda  had  guessed  just  right. 

"  It 's  the  easiest  way,"  Simon  had  said.     "  They  '11 

be  trying  to  get  out  in  a  very  few  days.     If  the  man 

-shoot  straight  and  to  kill!     If  Linda,  plug  the 

horse  and  bring  her  here  behind  the  saddle." 

Linda  turned  softly,  then  started  back.  She  did 
not  even  give  a  second's  thought  to  the  folly  of  try- 
ing to  break  through.  She  watched  the  sentinel 
over  her  shoulder  and  saw  him  turn  about.  Far 
distant  though  he  was,  she  could  tell  by  the  move- 
ment he  made  that  he  had  discovered  her. 

She  was  almost  four  hundred  yards  away  by 
then,  and  she  lashed  her  horse  into  a  gallop.  The 
man  cried  to  her  to  halt,  a  sound  that  came  dim  and 
strange  through  the  burn,  and  then  a  bullet  sent  up 
a  cloud  of  ashes  a  few  feet  to  one  side.  But  the 
range  was  too  far  even  for  the  Turners,  and  she 
only  urged  her  horse  to  a  faster  pace. 


246      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

She  flew  down  the  narrow  trail,  turned  into  the 
main  trail,  and  galloped  wildly  toward  home.  But 
the  sentry  did  not  follow  her.  He  valued  his  pre- 
cious life  too  much  for  that.  He  had  no  intention 
of  offering  himself  as  a  target  to  Bruce's  rifle  as  he 
neared  the  house.  He  headed  back  to  report  to 
Simon. 

Young  Bill  —  for  such  had  been  the  identity  of 
the  sentry  —  found  his  chief  in  the  large  field  not 
far  distant  from  where  Bruce  had  been  confined. 
The  man  was  supervising  the  harvest  of  the  fall 
growth  of  alfalfa.  The  two  men  walked  slowly 
away  from  the  workers,  toward  the  fringe  of 
woods. 

"  It  looks  as  if  we  '11  have  to  adopt  rough  meas- 
ures, after  all,"  Young  Bill  began. 

Simon  turned  with  flushing  face.  "  Do  you 
mean  you  let  him  get  past  you  —  and  missed  him? 
Young  Bill,  if  you  've  done  that  —  " 

'  Won't  you  wait  till  I  Ve  told  you  how  it  hap- 
pened? It  wasn't  Bruce;  it  was  Linda.  For 
some  reason  I  can't  dope  out,  she  went  up  in  the  big 
burn  back  of  me  and  saw  me  —  when  I  was  too  far 
off  to  shoot  her  horse.  Then  she  rode  back  like  a 
witch.  They  '11  not  take  that  trail  again." 

"  It  means  one  of  two  things,"  Simon  said  after 
a  pause.  "  One  of  them  is  to  starve  'em  out.  It 
won't  take  long.  Their  supplies  won't  last  for- 
ever. The  other  is  to  call  the  clan  and  attack  —  to- 
night." 

"  And  that  means  loss  of  life." 

"  Not  necessarily.     I   don't  know  how  many 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      247 

guns  they  Ve  got.  If  any  of  you  were  worth  your 
salt,  you  'd  find  out  those  things.  I  wish  Dave  was 
here." 

And  Simon  spoke  the  truth  for  once  in  his  life: 
he  did  miss  Dave.  And  it  was  not  that  there  had 
been  any  love  lost  between  them.  But  the  truth 
was  —  although  Simon  never  would  have  admitted 
it  —  the  weaker  man's  cunning  had  been  of  the 
greatest  aid  to  his  chief.  Simon  needed  it  sorely 
now. 

"  And  we  can't  wait  till  to-morrow  night  —  be- 
cause we  Ve  got  the  moon  then,"  Young  Bill  added. 
"  Just  a  new  moon,  but  it  will  prevent  a  surprise 
attack.  I  suppose  you  still  have  hopes  of  Dave 
coming  back? " 

"  I  don't  see  why  not.  I  '11  venture  to  say  now 
he  's  off  on  some  good  piece  of  business  —  doing 
something  none  of  the  rest  of  you  have  thought  of. 
He  '11  come  riding  back  one  of  these  days  with 
something  actually  accomplished.  I  see  no  reason 
for  thinking  that  he  's  dead.  Bruce  has  n't  had  any 
chance  at  him  that  I  know  of.  But  if  I  thought  he 
was  —  there  'd  be  no  more  waiting.  We  'd  tear 
down  that  nest  to-night." 

Simon  spoke  in  his  usual  voice  —  with  the  same 
emphasis,  the  same  undertones  of  passion.  But  the 
last  words  ended  with  a  queer  inflection.  The  truth 
was  that  he  had  slowly  become  aware  that  Young 
Bill  was  not  giving  him  his  full  attention,  but 
rather  was  gazing  off  —  unfamiliar  speculation  in 
his  eyes  —  toward  the  forests  beyond. 

Simon's  impulse  was  to  follow  the  gaze;  yet  he 


248       The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

would  not  yield  to  it.  "  Well? "  he  demanded. 
"  I  'm  not  talking  to  amuse  myself." 

The  younger  man  seemed  to  start.  His  eyes 
were  half -closed;  and  there  was  a  strange  look  of 
intentness  about  his  facial  lines  when  he  turned 
back  to  Simon.  *  You  have  n't  missed  any  stock?  " 
he  asked  abruptly. 

Simon's  eyes  widened.    "  No.    Why?  " 

"  Look  there  —  over  the  forest."  Young  Bill 
pointed.  Simon  shielded  his  eyes  from  the  sunset 
glare  and  studied  the  blue-green  skyline  above  the 
fringe  of  pines.  There  were  many  grotesque,  black 
birds  wheeling  on  slow  wings  above  the  spot.  Now 
and  then  they  dropped  down,  out  of  sight  behind 
the  trees. 

"  Buzzards!  "  Simon  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,"  Young  Bill  answered  quietly.  "  You 
see,  it  is  n't  much  over  a  mile  from  Folger's  house 
—  in  the  deep  woods.  There  's  something  dead 
there,  Simon.  And  I  think  we  'd  better  look  to 
see  what  it  is." 

"  You  think  —  "  Then  Simon  hesitated  and 
looked  again  with  reddening  eyes  toward  the  glid- 
ing buzzards. 

"  I  think  —  that  maybe  we  're  going  to  find 
Dave,"  Young  Bill  replied. 


XXVIII 

THE  darkness  of  this  October  night  fell  before 
its  time.  The  twilight  at  Trail's  End  is  never  long 
in  duration,  due  to  the  simple  fact  that  the  moun- 
tains cut  off  the  flood  of  light  from  the  west  after 
the  setting  of  the  sun,  but  to-night  there  seemed 
none  at  all.  The  reason  was  merely  that  heavy 
banks  of  clouds  swept  up  from  the  southeast  just 
after  sunset. 

They  came  .with  rather  startling  rapidity  and  al- 
most immediately  completely  filled  the  sky.  Young 
Bill  had  many  things  on  his  mind  as  he  rode  be- 
neath them,  yet  he  found  time  to  gaze  at  them  with 
some  curiosity.  They  were  of  singular  greenish 
hue,  and  they  hung  so  low  that  the  tops  of  near- 
by mountains  were  obscured. 

The  fact  that  there  would  be  no  moon  to-night 
was  no  longer  important.  The  clouds  would  have 
cut  off  any  telltale  light  that  might  illumine  the 
activities  of  the  Turners.  There  would  not  be  even 
the  dim  mist  of  starlight. 

Young  Bill  rode  from  house  to  house  through 
the  estate,  —  the  homes  occupied  by  Simon's  broth- 
ers and  cousins  and  their  respective  families.  He 
knocked  on  each  door  and  he  only  gave  one  little 
message.  "  Simon  wants  you  at  the  house,"  he  said, 
"  and  come  heeled." 


250      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

He  would  turn  to  go,  but  always  a  singular  quiet 
and  breathlessness  remained  in  the  homes  after  his 
departure.  There  would  be  a  curious  exchange  of 
glances  and  certain  significant  sounds.  One  of 
them  was  the  metallic  click  of  cartridges  being 
slipped  into  the  magazine  of  a  rifle.  Another  was 
the  buckling  on  of  spurs,  and  perhaps  the  rattle  of 
a  pistol  in  its  holster.  Before  the  night  fell  in 
reality,  the  clan  came  riding  —  strange,  tall  figures 
in  the  half-darkness  —  straight  for  Simon's  house. 

His  horse  was  saddled  too,  and  he  met  them  in 
front  of  his  door.  And  in  a  very  few  words  he 
made  all  things  plain  to  them. 

"  We  've  found  Dave,"  he  told  them  simply. 
"  Most  of  you  already  know  it.  We  Ve  decided 
there  is  n't  any  use  of  waiting  any  more.  We  're 
going  to  the  Folger  house  to-night." 

The  men  stood  silent,  breathing  hard.  The 
clouds  seemed  to  lower,  menacingly,  toward  them. 
Simon  spoke  very  quietly,  yet  his  voice  carried  far. 
In  their  growing  excitement  they  did  not  observe 
the  reason,  that  a  puzzling,  deep  calm  had  come 
over  the  whole  wilderness  world.  Even  in  the 
quietest  night  there  is  usually  a  faint  background  of 
winds  in  the  mountain  realms  —  troubled  breaths 
that  whisper  in  the  thickets  and  rustle  the  dead 
leaves  —  but  to-night  the  heavy  air  had  no  breath 
of  life. 

"  To-night  Bruce  Folger  is  going  to  pay  the 
price,  just  as  I  said."  He  spoke  rather  boastingly; 
perhaps  more  to  impress  his  followers  than  from 
impulse.  Indeed,  the  passion  that  he  felt  left  no 


The   Coining   of  the  Strength      251 

room  for  his  usual  arrogance.  "  Fire  on  sight.  Bill 
and  I  will  come  from  the  rear,  and  we  will  be  ready 
to  push  through  the  back  door  the  minute  you 
break  through  the  front.  The  rest  of  you  surround 
the  house  on  three  sides.  And  remember  —  no  man 
is  to  touch  Linda." 

They  nodded  grimly;  then  the  file  of  horsemen 
started  toward  the  ridge.  Far  distant  they  heard 
a  sound  such  as  had  reached  them  often  in  summer 
but  was  unfamiliar  in  fall.  It  was  the  faint  rumble 
of  distant  thunder. 

Bruce  and  Linda  sat  in  the  front  room  of  the 
Folger  house,  quiet  and  watchful  and  unafraid. 
It  was  not  that  they  did  not  realize  their  danger. 
They  had  simply  taken  all  possible  measures  of 
defense ;  and  they  were  waiting  for  what  the  night 
would  bring  forth. 

"  I  know  they  '11  come  to-night,"  Linda  had 
said.  '  To-morrow  night  there  will  be  a  moon, 
and  though  it  won't  give  much  light,  it  will  hurt 
their  chances  of  success.  Besides  —  they  've  found 
that  their  other  plot  —  to  kill  you  from  ambush  — 
isn't  going  to  work." 

Bruce  nodded  and  got  up  to  examine  the  shut- 
ters. He  wanted  no  ray  of  light  to  steal  out  into 
the  growing  darkness  and  make  a  target.  It  was 
a  significant  fact  that  the  rifle  did  not  occupy  its 
usual  place  behind  the  desk.  Bruce  kept  it  in  his 
hands  as  he  made  the  inspection.  Linda  had  her 
empty  pistol,  knowing  that  it  might  —  in  the  may- 
hap of  circumstance  —  be  of  aid  in  frightening  an 


252      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

assailant.    Old  Elmira  sat  beside  the  fire,  her  stiff 
fingers  busy  at  a  piece  of  sewing. 

'  You  know  —  "  Bruce  said  to  her,  "  that  we 
are  expecting  an  attack  to-night? " 

The  woman  nodded,  but  did  n't  miss  a  stitch.  No 
gleam  of  interest  came  into  her  eyes.  Bruce's  gaze 
fell  to  her  work  basket,  and  something  glittered 
from  its  depth.  Evidently  Elmira  had  regained 
her  knife. 

He  went  back  to  his  chair  beside  Linda,  and  the 
two  sat  listening.  They  had  never  known  a  more 
quiet  night.  They  listened  in  vain  for  the  little 
night  sounds  that  usually  come  stealing,  so  hushed 
and  tremulous,  from  the  forest.  The  noises  that 
always,  like  feeble  ghosts,  dwell  in  a  house  at  night 
—  the  little  explosions  of  a  scraping  board  or  a 
banging  shutter  or  perhaps  a  mouse,  scratching  in 
the  walls  —  were  all  lacking  too.  And  they  both 
started,  ever  so  slightly,  when  they  heard  a  distant 
rumble  of  thunder. 

"  It 's  going  to  storm,"  Linda  told  him. 

"  Yes.  A  thunderstorm  —  rather  unusual  in 
the  fall,  is  n't  it?" 

"  Almost  unknown.     It 's  growing  cold  too." 

They  waited  a  breathless  minute,  then  the  thun- 
der spoke  again.  It  was!  immeasurably  nearer. 
It  was  as  if  it  had  leaped  toward  them,  through 
the  darkness,  with  incredible  speed  in  the  minute 
that  had  intervened.  The  last  echo  of  the  sound 
was  not  dead  when  they  heard  it  a  third  time. 

The  storm  swept  toward  them  and  increased  in 
fury.  On  a  distant  hillside  the  strange  file  that 


The   Coming   of  the   Strength      253 

was  the  Turners  halted,  then  gathered  around 
Simon.  Already  the  lightning  made  vivid,  white 
gashes  in  the  sky  and  illumined  —  for  a  breathless 
instant  —  the  long  sweep  of  the  ridge  above  them. 
"  We  '11  make  good  targets  in  the  lightning,"  Old 
Bill  said. 

"  Ride  on,"  Simon  ordered.  "  You  know  a  man 
can't  find  a  target  in  the  hundredth  of  a  second  of  a 
lightning  flash.  We  're  not  going  to  turn  back 


now." 


They  rode  on.  Far  away  they  heard  the  whine 
and  roar  of  wind,  and  in  a  moment  it  was  upon 
them.  The  forest  was  no  longer  silent.  The  peal 
of  the  thunder  was  almost  continuous. 

The  breaking  of  the  storm  seemed  to  rock  the 
Folger  house  on  its  foundation.  Both  Linda  and 
Bruce  leaped  to  their  feet;  but  they  felt  a  little 
tingle  of  awe  when  they  saw  that  old  Elmira  still 
sat  sewing.  It  was  as  if  the  calm  that  dwelt  in  the 
Sentinel  Pine  outside  had  come  down  to  abide  in 
her.  No  force  that  the  world  possessed  could  ever 
take  it  from  her. 

They  heard  the  rumble  and  creak  of  the  trees  as 
the  wind  smote  them,  and  the  flame  of  the  lamp 
danced  wildly,  filling  the  room  with  flickering 
shadows.  Bruce  straightened,  the  lines  of  his  face 
setting  deep.  He  glanced  once  more  at  the  rifle 
in  his  hands. 

"  Linda,"  he  said,  "  put  out  that  fire.  If  there  's 
going  to  be  an  attack,  we  'd  have  a  better  chance 
if  the  room  were  in  darkness.  We  can  shoot 
through  the  door  then." 


254      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

She  obeyed  at  once,  knocking  the  burning  sticks 
apart  and  drenching  them  with  water.  They  hissed 
and  steamed,  but  the  noise  of  the  storm  almost 
effaced  the  sound.  "  Now  the  light? "  Linda 
asked. 

'  Yes.  See  where  you  are  and  have  everything 
ready." 

She  took  off  the  glass  shade  of  the  lamp,  and  the 
little  gusts  of  wind  that  crept  in  the  cracks  of  the 
windows  immediately  extinguished  the  flame.  The 
darkness  dropped  down.  Then  Bruce  opened  the 
door. 

The  whole  wilderness  world  struggled  in  the 
grasp  of  the  storm.  The  scene  was  such  that  no 
mortal  memory  could  possibly  forget.  They  saw 
it  in  great,  vivid  glimpses  in  the  intermittent  flashes 
of  the  lightning,  and  the  world  seemed  no  longer 
that  which  they  had  come  to  know.  Chaos  wras 
upon  it.  They  saw  young  trees  whipping  in  the 
wind,  their  slender  branches  flailing  the  air.  They 
saw  the  distant  ridges  in  black  and  startling  con- 
trast against  the  lighted  sky.  The  tall  tops  of  the 
trees  wagged  back  and  forth  in  frenzied  signals; 
their  branches  smote  and  rubbed  together.  And 
just  without  their  door  the  Sentinel  Pine  stood  with 
top  lifted  to  the  fury  of  the  storm. 

A  strange  awe  swept  over  Bruce.  A  moment 
later  he  was  to  behold  a  sight  that  for  the  moment 
would  make  him  completely  forget  the  existence  of 
the  great  tree;  but  for  an  instant  he  poised  at  the 
brink  of  a  profound  and  far-reaching  discovery. 
There  was  a  great  lesson  for  him  in  that  dark, 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      255 

towering  figure  that  the  lightning  revealed.  Even 
in  the  fury  of  the  storm  it  still  stood  infinitely  calm, 
watchful,  strong  as  the  mountains  themselves.  Its 
great  limbs  moved  and  spoke;  its  top  swayed  back 
and  forth,  yet  still  it  held  its  high  place  as  Sentinel 
of  the  Forest,  passionless,  patient,  talking  through 
the  murk  of  clouds  to  the  stars  that  burned  beyond. 

"  See/'  Linda  said.     '  The  Turners  are  coming." 

It  was  true.  Bruce  dropped  his  eyes.  Even 
now  the  clan  had  spread  out  in  a  great  wing  and 
was  bearing  down  upon  the  house.  The  lightning 
showed  them  in  strange,  vivid  flashes.  Bruce 
nodded  slowly. 

"  I  see,"  he  answered.     "  I  'm  ready." 

"  Then  shoot  them,  quick  — '-  when  the  lightning 
shows  them,"  she  whispered  in  his  ear.  "  They  're 
in  range  now."  Her  hand  seized  his  arm.  "  What 
are  you  waiting  for?  " 

He  turned  to  her  sternly.  "  Have  you  forgot- 
ten we  only  have  five  shells?  "  he  asked.  "  Go  back 
to  Elmira." 

Her  eyes  met  his,  and  she  tried  to  smile  into  them. 
"  Forgive  me,  Bruce  —  it 's  hard  —  to  be  calm." 

But  at  once  she  understood  why  he  was  waiting. 
The  flashes  of  lightning  offered  no  opportunity  for 
an  accurate  shot.  Bruce  meant  to  conserve  his 
little  supply  of  shells  until  the  moment  of  utmost 
need.  The  clan  drew  nearer.  They  were  riding 
slowly,  with  ready  rifles.  And  ever  the  storm  in- 
creased in  fury.  The  thunder  was  so  close  that  it 
no  longer  gave  the  impression  of  being  merely 
sound.  It  was  a  veritable  explosion  just  above 


-256      The   Strength  of  the   Pines 

their  heads.  The  flashes  came  so  near  together 
that  for  an  instant  Bruce  began  to  hope  they  would 
reveal  the  attackers  clearly  enough  to  give  him  a 
chance  for  a  well-aimed  shot.  The  first  drops  of 
rain  fell  one  by  one  on  the  roof. 

His  eyes  sought  for  Simon's  figure.  To  Simon 
he  owed  the  greatest  debt,  and  to  lay  Simon  low 
might  mean  to  dishearten  the  whole  clan.  But  al- 
though the  attackers  were  in  fair  range  now, 
scarcely  two  hundred  yards  away,  he  could  not 
identify  him.  They  drew  closer.  He  raised  his 
gun,  waiting  for  a  chance  to  fire.  And  at  that  in- 
stant a  resistless  force  hurled  him  to  the  floor. 

There  was  the  sense  of  vast  catastrophe,  a  great 
rocking  and  shuddering  that  was  lost  in  billowing 
waves  of  sound ;  and  then  a  frantic  effort  to  recall 
his  wandering  faculties.  A  blinding  light  cut  the 
darkness  in  twain;  it  smote  his  eyeballs  as  if  with 
a  physical  blow;  and  summoning  all  his  powers  of 
will  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

There  was  only  darkness  at  first ;  and  he  did  not 
understand.  But  it  was  of  scarcely  less  duration 
than  the  flash  of  lightning.  A  red  flame  suddenly 
leaped  into  the  air,  roared  and  grew  and  spread 
as  if  scattered  by  the  wind  itself.  And  Brace's 
breath  caught  in  a  sob  of  wonder. 

The  Sentinel  Pine,  that  ancient  friend  and  coun- 
selor that  stood  not  over  one  hundred  feet  from  the 
house,  had  been  struck  by  a  lightning  bolt,  its  trunk 
had  been  cleft  open  as  if  by  a  giant's  ax,  and  the 
flame  was  already  springing  through  its  balsam- 
laden  branches. 


XXIX 

BKUCE  stood  as  if  entranced,  gazing  with  awed 
face  at  the  flaming  tree.  There  was  little  danger 
of  the  house  itself  catching  fire.  The  wind  blew 
the  flame  in  the  opposite  direction;  besides,  the 
rains  were  beating  on  the  roof.  The  fire  in  the 
great  tree  itself,  however,  was  too  well  started  to  be 
extinguished  at  once  by  any  kind  of  rainfall;  but  it 
did  burn  with  less  fierceness. 

Dimly  he  felt  the  girl's  hand  grasping  at  his  arm. 
Her  fingers  pressed  until  he  felt  pain.  His  eyes 
lowered  to  hers.  The  sight  of  that  passion-drawn 
face  —  recalling  in  an  instant  the  scene  beside  the 
camp  fire  his  first  night  at  Trail's  End  —  called  him 
to  himself.  "Shoot,  you  fool!"  she  stormed  at 
him.  "  TJie  tree  's  lighted  up  the  whole  country- 
side, and  you  can't  miss.  Shoot  them  before  they 
run  away." 

He  glanced  quickly  out.  The  clan  that  had 
drawn  within  sixty  yards  of  the  house  at  the  time 
the  lightning  struck  had  been  thrown  into  confu- 
sion. Their  horses  had  been  knocked  down  by  the 
force  of  the  bolt  and  were  fleeing,  riderless,  away. 
The  men  followed  them,  shouting,  plainly  revealed 
in  the  light  from  the  burning  tree.  The  great  torch 
beside  the  house  had  completely  turned  the  tables. 
And  Linda  spoke  true;  they  offered  the  best  of 
targets. 


258      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

Again  the  girl's  eyes  were  lurid  slits  between  the 
lids.  Her  lips  were  drawn,  and  her  breathing  was 
strange.  He  looked  at  her  calmly. 

"  No,  Linda.     I  can't  —  " 

'  You  can't,"  she  cried.  "  You  coward  —  you 
traitor !  Kill  —  kill  —  kill  them  while  there  's 
time." 

She  saw  the  resolve  in  his  face,  and  she  snatched 
the  rifle  from  his  hands.  She  hurled  it  to  her 
shoulder  and  three  times  fired  blindly  toward  the 
retreating  Turners. 

At  that  instant  Bruce  seemed  to  come  to  life. 
His  thoughts  had  been  clear  ever  since  the  tree  had 
been  struck ;  his  vision  was  straighter  and  more  far- 
reaching  than  ever  in  his  life  before,  but  now  his 
muscles  wakened  too.  He  sprang  toward  the  girl 
and  snatched  the  rifle  from  her  hand.  She  fought 
for  it,  and  he  held  her  with  a  strong  arm. 

6  Wait  —  wait,      Linda,"      he      said     gently. 
4  You  've  wasted  three  cartridges  now.     There  are 
only  two  left.     And  we  may  need  them  some  other 
time." 

He  held  her  from  him  with  his  arm ;  and  it  was  as 
if  his  strength  flowed  into  her.  Her  blazing  eyes 
sought  his,  and  for  a  long  second  their  wills  battled. 
And  then  a  deep  wonder  seemed  to  come  over  her. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  breathed.  "  What  have  you 
found  out? " 

She  spoke  in  a  strange  and  distant  voice.  Slowly 
the  fire  died  in  her  eyes,  the  drawn  features  relaxed, 
her  hands  fell  at  her  side.  He  drew  her  away  from 
the  lighted  doorway,  out  of  the  range  of  any  of  the 


The   Coming  of  the  Strength      259 

Turners  that  should  turn  to  answer  the  rifle  fire. 
The  wind  roared  over  the  house  and  swept  by  in 
clamoring  fury,  the  electric  storm  dimmed  and  les- 
sened as  it  journeyed  on. 

These  two  knew  that  if  death  spared  them  in  all 
the  long  passage  of  their  years,  they  could  never  for- 
get that  moment.  The  girl  watched  him  breath- 
lessly, oblivious  to  all  things  else.  He  seemed 
wholly  unaware  of  her  now.  There  was  something 
aloof,  impassive,  infinitely  calm  about  him,  and  a 
great,  far-reaching  understanding  was  in  his  eyes. 
Her  own  eyes  suddenly  filled  with  tears. 

"  Linda,  there  's  something  come  to  me  —  and  I 
don't  know  that  I  can  make  you  understand.  I 
can  only  call  it  strength  —  a  new  strength  and  a 
greater  strength  than  I  ever  had  before.  It 's 
something  that  the  pine  —  that  great  tree  that  we 
just  saw  split  open  —  has  been  trying  to  tell  me  for 
a  long  time.  Oh,  can't  you  see,  Linda?  There  it 
stood,  hundreds  of  years  —  so  great,  so  tall,  so  wise 
—  in  a  moment  broken  like  a  reed.  It  takes  away 
my  arrogance,  Linda.  It  makes  me  see  myself  as 
I  really  am.  And  that  means  —  power." 

His  eyes  blazed,  and  he  caught  her  hands  in  his. 

"  It  was  a  symbol,  Linda,  not  only  of  the  wil- 
derness, but  of  powers  higher  and  greater  than  the 
wilderness.  Powers  that  can  look  down,  and  not 
be  swept  away  by  passion,  and  not  try  to  tear  to 
pieces  those  who  in  their  folly  harm  them.  There  's 
no  room  for  such  things  as  vengeance  in  this  new 
strength.  There  's  no  room  for  murder,  and  mal- 
ice, and  hatred,  and  bloodshed." 


260      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

Linda  understood.  She  knew  that  this  new- 
found strength  did  not  mean  renunciation  of  her 
cause.  It  did  not  mean  that  he  would  give  over 
his  attempt  to  reinstate  her  as  the  owner  of  her 
father's  estates.  It  only  meant  that  the  impulse 
of  personal  vengeance  was  dead  within  him.  He 
knew  now  —  the  same  as  ever  —  that  the  duty  of 
the  men  that  dwell  upon  the  earth  is  to  do  their 
allotted  tasks,  and  without  hatred  and  without  pas- 
sion to  overcome  the  difficulties  that  stand  in  the 
way.  She  realized  that  if  one  of  the  Turners 
should  leap  through  the  door  and  attack  her,  Bruce 
would  kill  him  without  mercy  or  regret.  She  knew 
that  he  would  make  every  effort  to  bring  the  offend- 
ers to  the  law.  But  the  ability  to  shoot  a  fleeing 
enemy  in  the  back,  because  of  wrongs  done  long 
ago,  was  past. 

Bruce 's  vision  had  come  to  him.  He  knew  that 
if  vengeance  had  been  the  creed  of  the  powers  that 
ruled  the  world,  the  sphere  would  have  been  de- 
stroyed with  fire  long  since.  To  stand  firm  and 
straight  and  unflinching;  not  to  judge,  not  to  con- 
demn, not  to  resent;  this  was  true  strength.  He 
began  to  see  the  whole  race  of  men  as  so  many 
leaves,  buffeted  by  the  winds  of  chance  and  circum- 
stance; and  was  it  for  the  oak  leaf  that  the  wind 
carried  swift  and  high  to  hold  in  scorn  the 
shrub  leaf  that  the  storm  had  already  hurled  to  the 
dust? 

"  I  know,"  the  girl  said,  her  thoughts  wandering 
afar.  "  Perhaps  the  name  for  it  all  is  —  toler- 


ance." 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      261 

"  Perhaps,"  he  nodded.  "  And  possibly  it  is 
only  —  worship !  " 

The  Turners  had  gone.  The  dimming  lightning 
revealed  the  entire  attacking  party  half  a  mile  dis- 
tant and  out  of  rifle  range  on  the  ridge ;  and  Bruce 
and  Linda  stole  together  out  into  the  storm.  The 
green  foliage  of  the  tree  had  already  burned  away, 
but  some  of  the  upper  branches  still  glowed  against 
the  dark  sky.  A  fallen  branch  smoldered  on  the 
ground,  hissing  in  the  rain,  and  it  lighted  their  way. 

Awed  and  mystified,  Bruce  halted  before  the 
ruin  of  the  great  tree.  He  had  almost  forgotten 
the  stress  of  the  moment  just  passed.  It  did  not 
even  occur  to  him  that  some  of  his  enemies,  unseen 
before,  might  still  be  lurking  in  the  shadow,  watch- 
ing for  a  chance  to  harm.  They  stood  a  moment  in 
silence.  Then  Bruce  uttered  one  little  gasp  and 
stretched  his  arm  into  the  hollow  that  the  cleft  in 
the  trunk  had  revealed. 

The  light  from  the  burning  branch  behind  him 
had  shown  him  a  small,  dark  object  that  had  evi- 
dently been  inserted  in  the  hollow  tree  trunk 
through  some  little  aperture  that  had  either  since 
been  closed  up  or  they  had  never  observed.  It  was 
a  leathern  wallet,  and  Bruce  opened  it  under 
Linda's  startled  gaze.  He  drew  out  a  single  white 
paper. 

He  held  it  in  the  light,  and  his  glance  swept  down 
its  lines  of  faded  ink.  Then  he  looked  up  with 
brightening  eyes. 

"What  is  it?  "she  asked. 


262     The   Strength  of  the   Pines 

'  The  secret  agreement  between  your  father  and 
mine,"  he  told  her  simply.  "  And  we  Ve  won." 

He  watched  her  eyes  brighten.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  nothing  life  had  ever  offered  had  given  him 
the  same  pleasure.  It  was  a  moment  of  triumph. 
But  before  half  of  its  long  seconds  were  gone,  it 
became  a  moment  of  despair. 

A  rifle  spoke  from  the  coverts  beyond,  —  one 
sharp,  angry  note  that  rose  distinct  and  penetrating 
above  the  noise  of  the  distant  thunder.  A  little 
tongue  of  fire  darted,  like  a  snake's  head,  in  the 
darkness.  And  the  triumph  on  Bruce's  face 
changed  to  a  singular  look  of  wonder. 


• 


XXX 

To  Simon,  the  night  had  seemingly  ended  in 
triumph  after  all.  It  had  looked  dark  for  a  while. 
The  bolt  of  lightning,  setting  fire  to  the  pine,  had 
deranged  all  of  his  plans.  His  men  had  been 
thrown  from  their  horses,  the  blazing  pine  tree  had 
left  them  exposed  to  fire  from  the  house,  and  they 
had  not  yet  caught  their  mounts  and  rallied. 
Young  Bill  and  himself,  however,  had  tied  their 
horses  before  the  lightning  had  struck  and  had 
lingered  in  the  thickets  in  front  of  the  house  for 
just  such  a  chance  as  had  been  given  them. 

He  hadn't  understood  why  Bruce  had  not 
opened  fire  on  the  fleeing  Turners.  He  wondered 
if  his  enemy  were  out  of  ammunition.  The  trag- 
edy of  the  Sentinel  Pine  had  had  no  meaning  for 
him;  and  he  had  held  his  rifle  cocked  and  ready  for 
the  instant  that  Bruce  had  shown  himself. 

Young  Bill  had  heard  his  little  exultant  gasp 
when  Linda  and  Bruce  had  come  out  into  the  fire- 
light. Plainly  they  had  kept  track  of  all  the  at- 
tacking party  that  had  been  visible,  and  supposed 
that  all  their  enemies  had  gone.  He  felt  the  move- 
ment of  Simon's  strong  arms  as  he  raised  the  rifle. 
Those  arms  were  never  steadier.  In  the  darkness 
the  younger  man  could  not  see  his  face,  but  his  own 
fancy  pictured  it  with  entire  clearness.  The  eyes 


264      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

were  narrowed  and  red,  the  lines  cut  deep  about 
the  bloodhound  lips,  and  mercy  was  as  far  from 
him  as  from  the  Killer  who  hunted  on  the  distant 
ridge. 

But  Simon  didn't  fire  at  once.  The  two  were 
coming  steadily  toward  him,  and  the  nearer  they 
were  the  better  his  chance  of  success  in  the  unsteady 
light.  He  sat  as  breathless,  as  wholly  free  from 
telltale  motion  as  a  puma  who  waits  in  ambush  for 
an  approaching  deer.  He  meant  to  take  careful 
aim.  It  was  his  big  chance,  and  he  intended  to 
make  the  most  of  it. 

The  two  had  halted  beside  the  ruined  pine,  but 
for  a  moment  he  held  his  fire.  They  stood  rather 
close  together;  he  wanted  to  wait  until  Bruce  of- 
fered a  clear  target.  And  at  that  instant  Bruce  had 
drawn  the  leather  wallet  from  the  tree. 

Curiosity  alone  stayed  Simon's  finger  as  Bruce 
had  opened  it.  He  saw  the  gleam  of  the  white 
paper  in  the  dim  light ;  and  then  he  understood. 

Simon  was  a  man  of  rigid,  unwavering  self-con- 
trol; and  his  usual  way  was  to  look  a  long  time  be- 
tween the  sights  before  he  fired.  Yet  the  sight  of 
that  document  —  the  missing  Folger-Ross  agree- 
ment on  which  had  hung  victory  or  defeat  —  sent  a 
violent  impulse  through  all  his  nervous  system. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  memory  his  reflexes  got 
away  from  him. 

It  had  meant  too  much;  and  his  finger  pressed 
back  involuntarily  against  the  trigger.  He  had  n't 
taken  his  usual  deliberate  aim,  although  he  had  seen 
Bruce's  figure  clearly  between  the  sights  the  in- 


The   Coming   of  the   Strength      265 

stant  before  he  had  fired.  Simon  was  a  rifle-man,  bred 
in  the  bone,  and  he  had  no  reason  to  think  that  the 
hasty  aim  meant  a  complete  miss.  He  did  realize,, 
however,  the  difficulties  of  night  shooting  —  a  real- 
ization that  all  men  who  have  lingered  after  dusk  in 
the  duck  blind  experience  sooner  or  later  —  and  he 
looked  up  over  his  sights  to  see  the  result  of  his 
shot.  His  self-control  had  completely  returned  to 
him;  and  he  was  perfectly  cold  about  the  whole 
matter. 

From  the  first  second  he  knew  he  hadn't  com- 
pletely missed.  He  raised  his  rifle  to  shoot  again. 

But  Bruce's  body  was  no  longer  revealed.  Linda 
stood  in  the  way.  It  looked  as  if  she  had  deliber- 
ately thrown  her  own  body  as  a  shield  between. 

Simon  spoke  then,  —  a  single,  terrible  oath  of 
hatred  and  jealousy.  But  in  a  second  more  he 
saw  his  triumph.  Bruce  swayed,  reeled,  and  fell 
in  Linda's  arms,  and  he  saw  her  half -drag  him  into 
the  house. 

He  stood  shivering,  but  not  from  the  cold  that 
the  storm  had  brought.  "  Come  on,"  he  ordered 
Young  Bill.  "  I  think  we  've  downed  him  for 
good,  but  we  've  got  to  get  that  paper." 

But  Simon  did  not  see  all  things  clearly.  He 
had  little  real  knowledge  of  the  little  drama  that 
had  followed  his  shot  from  ambush. 

Human  nature  is  full  of  odd  quirks  and  twists, 
and  among  other  things,  symptoms  are  misleading. 
There  is  an  accepted  way  for  men  to  act  when  they 
are  struck  with  a  rifle  bullet.  They  are  expected  to 


266      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

reel,  to  throw  their  arms  wide,  and  usually  to  cry 
out.  The  only  trouble  with  these  actions,  as  most 
men  who  have  been  in  French  battle-fields  know 
very  well,  is  that  they  do  not  usually  happen  in  real 
life. 

Bruce,  with  Linda's  eyes  upon  him,  took  one 
rather  long,  troubled  breath.  And  he  did  look 
somewhat  puzzled.  Then  he  looked  down  at  his 
shoulder. 

"  I  'm  hit,  Linda,"  he  said  in  a  quiet  way.  "  I 
think  just  a  scratch." 

The  tremendous  shock  of  any  kind  of  wound 
from  a  thirty- forty  caliber  bullet  had  not  seemingly 
affected  him  outwardly  at  all.  Linda's  response 
was  rather  curious.  Some  hours  were  to  pass  be- 
fore he  completely  understood.  The  truth  was  that 
the  shock  of  that  rifle  bullet,  ordinarily  striking  a 
blow  of  a  half -ton,  had  cost  him  for  the  moment  an 
ability  to  make  any  logical  interpretation  of  events. 
The  girl  moved  swiftly,  yet  without  giving  an  im- 
pression of  leaping,  and  stood  very  close  and  in  front 
of  him.  In  one  lightning  movement  she  had  made 
of  her  own  body  a  shield  for  his,  in  case  the  assassin 
in  the  covert  should  shoot  again. 

She  was  trained  to  mountain  ways,  and  instantly 
she  regained  a  perfect  mastery  of  herself.  Her 
arms  went  about  and  seized  his  shoulders.  "  Stag- 
ger," she  whispered  quickly.  "  Pretend  to  fall. 
It 's  the  one  chance  to  save  you." 

He  dispelled  the  mists  in  his  own  brain  and 
obeyed  her.  He  swayed,  and  her  arms  went  about 
him.  Then  he  fell  forward. 


The   Coming   of  the   Strength      267 

Her  strong  arms  encircled  his  waist  and  with  all 
her  magnificent  young  strength  she  dragged  him  to 
the  door.  It  was  noticeable,  however  —  to  all  eyes 
except  Bruce's —  that  she  kept  her  own  body  as 
much  as  she  could  between  him  and  the  ambush. 
In  an  instant  they  were  in  the  darkened  room. 
Bruce  stood  up,  once  more  wholly  master  of  him- 
self. 

"  You  're  not  hurt  bad?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  No.  Just  a  deep  scratch  in  the  arm  muscle 
near  the  shoulder.  Bullet  just  must  have  grazed 
me.  But  it's  bleeding  pretty  bad." 

"  Then  there  's  no  time  to  be  lost."  Her  hands 
in  her  eagerness  went  again  to  his  shoulder. 
"  Don't  you  see  —  he  '11  be  here  in  a  minute.  We  '11 
steal  out  the  back  door  and  try  to  ride  down  to  the 
courts  before  they  can  overtake  us  —  ': 

In  one  instant  he  had  grasped  the  idea;  and  he 
laughed  softly  in  the  gloom.  "  I  know.  I  '11 
snatch  two  blankets  and  the  food.  You  get  the 
horse." 

She  sprang  out  the  kitchen  door  and  he  hurried 
into  the  bedrooms.  He  snatched  two  of  the  warm- 
est blankets  from  the  beds  and  hurled  them  over  his 
shoulder.  He  hooked  the  camp  ax  on  his  belt,  then 
hastened  into  the  little  kitchen.  He  took  up  the 
little  sack  containing  a  few  pounds  of  jerked  veni- 
son, spilled  out  a  few  pieces  for  Elmira,  and  carried 
it  —  with  a  few  pounds  of  flour  —  out  to  meet 
Linda.  The  horse  still  stood  saddled,  and  with 
deft  hands  they  tied  on  their  supplies  and  fastened 
the  blankets  in  a  long  roll  in  front  of  the  saddle. 


268      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 
"  Get  on,"  she  whispered.     "  I  '11  get  up  behind 

you." 

She  spoke  in  the  utter  darkness;  he  felt  her 
breath  against  his  cheek.  Then  the  lightning  came 
dimly  and  showed  him  her  face. 

"  No,  Linda,"  he  replied  quietly.  "You  are  go- 
ing alone  — 

She  cut  him  off  with  a  despairing  cry.  "Oh, 
please,  Bruce  —  I  won't.  I  '11  stay  here  then— 

"Don't  you  see?"  he  demanded.  "You  can 
make  it  out  without  me.  I  'm  wounded  and  bleed- 
ing, and  can't  tell  how  long  I  can  keep  up.  We  've 
only  got  one  horse,  and  without  me  to  weigh  him 
down  you  can  get  down  to  the  courts  —  " 

"  And  leave  you  here  to  be  murdered?  Oh,  don't 
waste  the  precious  seconds  any  more.  I  won't  go 
without  you.  I  mean  it.  If  you  stay  here,  I  do 
too.  Believe  me  if  you  ever  believed  anything." 

Once  more  the  lightning  revealed  her  face,  and 
on  it  was  the  determination  of  a  zealot.  He  knew 
that  she  spoke  the  truth.  He  climbed  with  some 
difficulty  into  the  saddle.  A  moment  more  and  she 
swung  up  behind  him. 

The  entire  operation  had  taken  an  astonishingly 
short  period  of  time.  Bruce  had  worked  like  mad, 
wholly  disregarding  his  injured  arm.  The  rain  had 
already  changed  to  snow,  and  the  wet  flakes  beat 
in  his  face,  but  he  did  not  heed  them.  Just  beyond, 
Simon  with  ready  rifle  was  creeping  toward  the 
house. 

'  Which  way?  "  Bruce  asked. 

"  The  out-trail  —  around  the  mountain,"  she  whis- 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      269 

pered.  "  Simon  will  overtake  us  on  the  other  — 
he  's  got  a  magnificent  horse.  On  the  mountain 
trail  we  '11  have  a  better  chance  to  keep  out  of  his 
sight." 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  yet  conveyed  her  message 
with  entire  clearness.  They  knew  what  they  had  to 
face,  these  two.  Simon  and  whoever  of  the  clan 
was  with  him  would  lose  no  time  in  springing  in 
pursuit.  They  each  had  a  strong  horse,  they  knew 
the  trails,  they  carried  long-range  rifles  and  would 
open  fire  at  the  first  glimpse  of  the  fugitives. 
Bruce  was  wounded;  slight  as  the  injury  was  it 
would  seriously  handicap  them  in  such  a  test  as  this. 
Their  one  chance  was  to  keep  to  the  remote  trails,  to 
lurk  unseen  in  the  thickets,  and  try  to  break 
through  to  safety.  And  they  knew  that  only  by 
the  doubtful  mercy  of  the  forest  gods  could  they 
ever  succeed. 

She  took  the  reins  and  pulled  out  of  the  trail, 
then  encircled  a  heavy  wall  of  brush.  She  did  n't 
wish  to  take  the  risk  of  Simon  seeing  their  forms  in 
the  dimming  lightning  and  opening  fire  so  soon. 
Then  she  turned  back  into  the  trail  and  headed  into 
the  storm. 

Simon  had  clear  enough  memory  of  the  rifle  fire 
that  Linda  had  opened  upon  the  clan  to  wish  to 
approach  the  house  with  care.  It  would  be  wholly 
typical  of  the  girl  to  lay  her  lover  on  his  bed,  then 
go  back  to  the  window  to  wait  for  a  sight  of  his  as- 
sassin. She  could  look  straight  along  a  rifle  bar- 
rel! A  few  moments  were  lost  as  Young  Bill  and 


270      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

himself  encircled  the  thickets,  keeping  out  of  the 
gleam  of  the  smoldering  tree.  Its  light  was  almost 
gone ;  it  hissed  and  glowed  in  the  wet  snow. 

They  crept  up  from  the  shadow,  and  holding 
their  rifles  ready,  opened  the  door.  They  were 
somewhat  surprised  to  find  it  unlocked.  The  truth 
was  it  had  been  left  thus  by  design;  Linda  did  not 
wish  them  to  encircle  the  house  to  the  rear  door  and 
discover  Bruce  and  herself  in  the  act  of  departure. 
The  room  was  in  darkness,  and  the  two  intruders 
rather  expected  to  find  Bruce's  body  on  the  thresh- 
old. 

These  were  mountain  men ;  and  they  had  been  in 
rifle  duels  before.  They  had  the  sure  instincts  of 
the  beasts  of  prey  in  the  hills  without,  and  among 
other  things  they  knew  it  was  n't  wise  to  stand  long 
in  an  open  doorway  with  the  firelight  of  the  ruined 
pine  behind  them.  They  slipped  quickly  into  the 
darkness. 

Then  they  stopped  and  listened.  The  room  was 
deeply  silent.  They  could  n't  hear  the  sound  that 
both  of  them  had  so  confidently  expected,  —  the 
faint  breathing  of  a  dying  man.  Simon  struck  a 
match.  The  room  was  quite  deserted. 

"  What 's  up?  "  Bill  demanded. 

Simon  turned  toward  him  with  a  scowl,  and  the 
match  flickered  and  burned  out  in  his  fingers. 
"  Keep  your  rifle  ready.  He  may  be  hiding  some- 
where —  still  able  to  shoot." 

They  stole  to  the  door  of  Linda's  room  and  lis- 
tened. Then  they  threw  it  wide. 

One  of  their  foes  was  in  this  room  — an  imp  lac- 


The   Coming  of  the  Strength      271 

able  foe  whose  eyes  were  glittering  and  strange  in 
the  matchlight.  But  it  was  neither  Bruce  nor 
Linda.  It  was  old  Elmira,  cold  and  sinister  as  a 
rattler  in  its  lair.  Simon  cursed  her  and  hurried 
on. 

At  that  instant  both  men  began  to  move  swiftly. 
Holding  his  rifle  like  a  club,  Simon  swung  through 
into;  Bruce's  room,  lighted  another  match,  then 
darted  into  the  kitchen.  In  the  dim  matchlight 
the  truth  went  home  to  him. 

He  turned,  eyes  glittering.  "  They  Ve  gone  — 
on  Dave's  horse,"  he  said.  "Thank  God  they've 
only  got  one  horse  between  'em  and  can't  go  fast. 
You  ride  like  hell  up  the  trail  toward  the  store  — 
they  might  have  gone  that  way.  Keep  close  watch 
and  shoot  when  you  can  make  'em  out." 

"  You  mean  —  "  Bill's  eyes  widened. 

"  Mean!  I  mean  do  as  I  say.  Shoot  by  sound, 
if  you  can't  see  them,  and  don't  lose  another  second 
or  I  '11  shoot  you  too.  Aim  for  the  man  if  a  chance 
offers  —  but  shoot,  anyway.  Don't  stop  hunting 
till  you  find  them  —  they  '11  duck  off  in  the  brush 
sure.  If  they  get  through,  everything  is  lost.  I  '11 
take  the  trail  around  the  mountain." 

They  raced  to  their  horses,  untied  them,  and 
mounted  swiftly.  The  darkness  swallowed  them 
at  once. 


XXXI 

IN  the  depth  of  gloom  even  the  wild  folk  —  usu- 
ally keeping  so  close  a  watch  on  those  that  move  on 
the  shadowed  trails  —  did  not  see  Linda  and  Bruce 
ride  past.  The  darkness  is  usually  their  time  of 
dominance,  but  to-night  most  of  them  had  yielded 
to  the  storm  and  the  snow.  They  hovered  in  their 
coverts.  What  movement  there  was  among  them 
was  mostly  toward  the  foothills;  for  the  message 
had  gone  forth  over  the  wilderness  that  the  cold 
had  come  to  stay.  The  little  gnawing  folk,  emerg- 
ing for  another  night's  work  at  filling  their  larders 
with  food,  crept  down  into  the  scarcely  less  impene- 
trable darkness  of  their  underground  burrows. 
Even  the  bears,  whose  furry  coats  were  impervious 
to  any  ordinary  cold,  felt  the  beginnings  of  the  cold- 
trance  creeping  over  them.  They  were  remember- 
ing the  security  and  warmth  of  their  last  winter's 
dens,  and  they  began  to  long  for  them  again. 

The  horse  walked  slowly,  head  close  to  the 
ground.  The  girl  made  no  effort  to  guide  him. 
The  lightning  had  all  but  ceased ;  and  in  an  instant 
it  had  become  apparent  that  only  by  trusting  to 
the  animal's  instinct  could  the  trail  be  kept  at  all; 
almost  at  once  all  sense  of  direction  was  lost  to 
them.  The  snow  and  the  darkness  obscured  the 
outline  of  the  ridges  against  the  sky;  the  trail  was 
wholly  invisible  beneath  them. 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      273 

After  the  first  hundred  yards,  they  had  no  way 
of  knowing  that  the  horse  was  actually  on  the 
trail.  While  animals  in  the  light  of  day  cannot 
see  nearly  so  far  or  interpret  nearly  so  clearly  as 
human  beings,  they  usually  seem  to  make  their  way 
much  better  at  night.  Many  a  frontiersman  has 
been  saved  from  death  by  realization  of  this  fact; 
and,  bewildered  by  the  ridges,  has  permitted  his  dog 
to  lead  him  into  camp.  But  nature  has  never  de- 
vised a  creature  that  can  see  in  the  utter  darkness, 
and  the  gloom  that  enfolded  them  now  seemed 
simply  unfathomable.  Bruce  found  it  increasingly 
hard  to  believe  that  the  horse's  eyes  could  make  out 
any  kind  of  dim  pathway  in  the  pine  needles. 
The  feeling  grew  on  him  and  on  Linda  as  well  that 
they  were  lost  and  aimlessly  wandering  in  the 
storm. 

Of  all  the  sensations  that  the  wilderness  can  af- 
ford, there  are  few  more  dreadful  to  the  spirit  than 
this.  It  is  never  pleasant  to  lose  one's  bearings,  — 
and  in  the  night  and  the  cold  and  miles  from  any 
friendly  habitation  it  is  particularly  hard  to  bear. 
Bruce  felt  the  age-old  menace  of  the  wilderness  as 
never  before.  It  always  seemed  to  be  crouching, 
waiting  to  take  a  man  at  a  disadvantage ;  and  like 
the  gods  that  first  make  mad  those  whom  they  would 
destroy,  it  does  n't  quite  play  fair.  He  understood 
now  certain  wilderness  tragedies  of  which  he  had 
heard :  how  tenderf eet  —  lost  among  the  ridges  — 
had  broken  into  a  wild  run  that  had  ended  nowhere 
except  in  exhaustion  and  death. 

Bruce  himself  felt  a  wild  desire  to  lash  his  horse 


274      The   Strength  of  the   Pines 

into  a  gallop,  but  he  forced  it  back  with  all  his 
powers  of  will.  His  calmer,  saner  self  explained 
that  folly  with  entire  clearness.  It  would  mean 
panic  for  the  horse,  and  then  a  quick  and  certain 
death  either  at  the  foot  of  a  precipice  or  from  a 
blow  from  a  low-hanging  limb.  The  horse  seemed 
to  be  feeling  its  way,  rather  than  seeing. 

They  were  strange,  lonely  figures  in  the  dark- 
ness ;  and  for  a  long  time  they  rode  almost  in  silence. 
Then  Bruce  felt  the  girl's  breath  as  she  whispered. 

"  Bruce,"  she  said.  "  Let 's  be  brave  and  look 
this  matter  in  the  face.  Do  you  think  we  Ve  got  a 
chance? " 

He  rode  a  long  time  before  he  answered.  He 
groped  desperately  for  a  word  that  might  bring  her 
cheer,  but  it  was  hard  to  find.  The  cold  seemed  to 
deepen  about  them,  the  remorseless  snow  beat  into 
his  face. 

"  Linda,"  he  replied,  "  it  is  one  of  the  mercies  of 
this  world  for  men  always  to  think  that  they  Ve  got 
a  chance.  Maybe  it 's  only  a  cruelty  in  our  case." 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  something  else.  I 
have  n't  the  least  way  of  knowing  whether  we  are 
on  the  right  trail." 

"  I  knew  that  long  ago.  Whether  we  are  on  any 
trail  at  all." 

"  I  Ve  just  been  thinking.  I  don't  know  how 
many  forks  it  has.  We  might  have  already  got  on 
a  wrong  one.  Perhaps  the  horse  is  turned  about 
and  is  heading  back  home  —  toward  Simon's 
stables." 

She  spoke  dully,  and  he  thrust  his  arm  back  to 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      275 

her.     "  Linda,  try  to  be  brave,"  he  urged.     "  We 
can  only  take  a  chance." 

The  horse  plodded  a  few  more  steps.  "  Brave  I 
To  think  that  it  is  you  that  has  to  encourage  me  — 
instead  of  my  trying  to  keep  up  your  spirits.  I 
will  try  to  be  brave,  Bruce.  And  if  we  don't  live 
through  the  night,  my  last  remembrance  will  be 
of  your  bravery  —  how  you,  injured  and  weak  from 
loss  of  blood,  still  remembered  to  give  a  cheery 
word  to  me." 

"  I  'm  not  badly  injured,"  he  told  her  gently. 
"  And  there  are  certain  things  that  have  come  clear 
to  me  lately.  One  of  them  is  that  except  for  you 
—  throwing  your  own  precious  body  between  —  I 
would  n't  be  here  at  all." 

The  feeling  that  they  had  lost  the  trail  grew  upon 
them.  More  than  once  the  stirrup  struck  the  bark 
of  a  tree  and  often  the  thickets  gave  way  beneath 
them.  Once  they  halted  to  adjust  the  blankets  on 
the  saddle,  and  they  listened  for  any  sounds  that, 
might  indicate  that  Simon  was  overtaking  them, 
But  all  they  heard  was  the  soft  rustle  of  the  leaves: 
under  the  wind-blown  snow. 

"  Linda,"  he  asked  suddenly.  "  Does  it  seem  tr* 
you  to  be  awfully  cold?  " 

She  waited  a  long  time  before  she  spoke.  This 
was  not  the  hour  to  make  quick  answers.  On  any 
decision  might  rest  their  success  or  failure. 

"  I  believe  I  can  stand  it  —  awhile  longer,"  she 
answered  at  last. 

"  But  I  don't  think  we  'd  better  try  to.  It 's 
getting  cold.  Every  hour  it 's  colder,  and  I  seem 


276      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

to  be  getting  weaker.  It  is  n't  a  real  wound,  Linda 
—  but  it  seems  to  have  knocked  some  of  my  vitality 
out  of  me,  and  I  'm  dreadfully  in  need  of  rest.  I 
think  we  'd  better  try  to  make  a  camp." 

"  And  go  on  by  morning  light?  " 

"  Yes." 
'  But  Simon  might  overtake  us  then." 

"  We  must  stay  out  of  sight  of  the  trail.  But 
somehow  —  I  can't  help  but  hope  he  won't  try  to 
follow  us  on  such  a  night  as  this." 

He  drew  up  the  horse,  and  they  sat  in  the  beat  of 
the  snow.  "  Don't  make  any  mistake  about  that, 
Bruce,"  she  told  him.  "  Remember,  that  unless  he 
overtakes  us  before  we  come  into  the  protection  of 
the  courts,  his  whole  fight  is  lost.  It  does  n't  alone 
mean  loss  of  the  estate  —  for  which  he  would  risk 
his  life  just  as  he  has  a  dozen  times.  It  means  de- 
feat —  a  thing  that  would  come  hard  to  Simon. 
Besides,  he  's  got  a  fire  within  him  that  will  keep 
him  warm." 

'  You  mean  —  hatred?  " 

"  Hatred.     Nothing  else." 

"  But  in  spite  of  it  we  must  make  camp.  We  '11 
get  off  the  trail  —  if  we  're  still  on  it  —  and  try  to 
slip  through  to-morrow.  You  see  what 's  going  to 
happen  if  we  keep  on  going  this  way?  " 

"  I  know  that  I  feel  a  queer  dread  —  and  hope- 
lessness —  " 

"And  that  dread  and  hopelessness  are  just  as 
much  danger  signals  as  the  sound  of  Simon's  horse 
behind  us.  It  means  that  the  cold  and  the  snow 
and  the  fear  are  getting  the  better  of  us.  Linda, 


The   Corning  of  the   Strength      277 

it 's  a  race  with  death.  Don't  misunderstand  me  or 
disbelieve  me.  It  is  n't  Simon  alone  now.  It 's  the 
cold  and  the  snow  and  the  fear.  The  thing  to  do  is 
to  make  camp,  keep  as  warm  as  we  can  in  our  blan- 
kets, and  push  on  in  the  morning.  It 's  two  full 
days'  ride,  going  fast,  the  best  we  can  go  —  and 
God  knows  what  will  happen  before  the  end." 

"Then  turn  off  the  trail,  Bruce,"  the  girl  told 
him. 

"  I  don't  know  that  we  're  even  on  the  trail." 

"  Turn  off,  anyway.  As  long  as  we  stay  to- 
gether —  it  does  n't  matter." 

She  spoke  very  quietly.  Then  he  felt  a  strange 
thing.  A  warmth  which  even  that  growing,  terri- 
ble cold  could  not  transcend  swept  over  him.  For 
her  arms  had  crept  out  under  his  arms  and  encir- 
cled his  great  breast,  then  pressed  with  all  her  gen- 
tle strength. 

No  word  of  encouragement,  no  cheery  expres- 
sion of  hope  could  have  meant  so  much.  Not  de- 
feat, not  even  the  long  darkness  of  death  itself 
could  appall  him  now.  All  that  he  had  given  and 
suffered  and  endured,  all  the  mighty  effort  that  he 
had  made  had  in  an  instant  been  shown  in  its  true 
light,  a  thing  worth  while,  a  sacrifice  atoned  for 
and  redeemed. 

They  headed  off  into  the  thickets,  blindly,  letting 
the  horse  choose  the  way.  They  felt  him  turn  to 
avoid  some  object  in  his  path  —  evidently  a  fallen 
tree  —  and  they  mounted  a  slight  ridge  or  rise. 
Then  they  felt  the  wet  touch  of  fir  branches  against 
their  cheeks. 


278      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

Bruce  stopped  the  horse  and  both  dismounted. 
Both  of  them  knew  that  under  the  drooping  limhs 
of  the  tree  they  would  find,  at  least  until  the  snows 
deepened,  comparative  shelter  from  the  storm. 
Here,  rolled  in  their  blankets,  they  might  pass  the 
remainder  of  the  night  hours. 

Bruce  tied  the  horse,  and  the  girl  unrolled  the 
blankets.  But  she  did  not  lay  them  together  to 
make  a  rude  bed,  —  and  the  dictates  of  convention- 
ality had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.  If  one 
jot  more  warmth  could  have  been  achieved  by  it, 
these  two  would  have  lain  side  by  side  through  the 
night  hours  between  the  same  blankets.  She  knew, 
however,  that  more  warmth  could  be  achieved  if 
each  of  them  took  a  blanket  and  rolled  up  in  it; 
thus  they  would  get  two  thicknesses  instead  of  one 
and  no  openings  to  admit  the  freezing  air.  When 
this  was  done  they  lay  side  by  side,  economizing 
the  last  atom  of  warmth. 

The  night  hours  were  dreary  and  long.  The 
rain  beat  into  the  limbs  above  them,  and  sometimes 
it  sifted  through.  At  the  first  gray  of  dawn  Bruce 
opened  his  eyes. 

His  dreams  had  been  troubled  and  strange,  but 
the  reality  to  which  he  wakened  gave  him  no  sense 
of  relief.  The  first  knowledge  that  he  had  was 
that  the  snow  had  continued  to  sift  down  through- 
out the  night,  that  it  had  already  laid  a  white  man- 
tle over  the  wilderness,  and  the  whirling  flakes  still 
cut  off  all  view  of  the  familiar  landmarks  by  which 
he  might  get  his  bearings. 

He  had  this  knowledge  before  he  was  actually 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      279 

cognizant  of  the  cold.  And  then  its  first  realization 
came  to  him  in  a  strange  heaviness  and  dullness  in 
his  body,  and  an  almost  irresistible  desire  to  sleep. 

He  fought  a  little  battle,  lying  there  under  the 
snow-covered  limbs  of  the  fir  tree.  Because  it  was 
one  in  which  no  blows  were  exchanged,  no  shots 
fired,  and  no  muscles  called  into  action,  it  was  no 
less  a  battle,  trying  and  stern.  It  was  a  fight  waged 
in  his  own  spirit,  and  it  seemed  to  rend  him  in  twain. 

The  whole  issue  was  clear  in  his  mind  at  once. 
The  cold  had  deepened  in  these  hours  of  dawn,  and 
he  was  slowly,  steadily  freezing  to  death.  Even 
now  the  blood  flowed  less  swiftly  in  his  veins. 
Death  itself,  in  the  moment,  had  lost  all  horror  for 
him;  rather  it  was  a  thing  of  peace,  of  ease.  All 
he  had  to  do  was  to  lie  still.  Just  close  his  eyes,  — 
and  soft  shadows  would  drop  over  him. 

They  would  drop  over  Linda  too.  She  lay  still 
beside  him;  perhaps  they  had  already  fallen.  The 
war  he  had  waged  so  long  and  so  relentlessly  would 
end  in  blissful  calm.  Outside  there  was  only  snow 
and  cold  and  wracking  limbs  and  pain,  only  fur- 
ther conflict  with  tireless  enemies,  only  struggle  to 
tear  his  agonized  body  to  pieces ;  and  the  bitterness 
of  defeat  in  the  end.  He  saw  his  chances  plain  as 
he  lay  beneath  that  gray  sky.  Even  now,  perhaps, 
Simon  was  upon  them.  Only  two  little  rifle  shells 
remained  with  which  to  combat  him,  and  he  doubted 
that  his  wounded  arm  would  hold  the  rifle  steady. 
There  were  weary,  innumerable  miles  between  them 
and  any  shelter,  and  only  the  terrible,  trackless  for- 
est lay  between. 


2 So      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

Why  not  lie  still  and  let  the  curtains  fall?  This 
was  an  easy,  tranquil  passing,  and  heaven  alone 
knew  what  dreadful  mode  of  egress  would  be  his 
if  he  rose  to  battle  further.  All  the  argument 
seemed  on  one  side. 

But  high  and  bright  above  all  this  burned  the 
indomitable  flame  of  his  spirit.  Even  as  the 
thoughts  came  to  him  it  mounted  higher,  it  pro- 
pelled its  essence  of  strength  through  his  veins,  it 
brought  new  steel  to  his  muscles.  To  rise,  to  fight, 
to  struggle  on!  Never  to  yield  until  the  Power 
above  decreed!  To  stand  firm,  even  as  the  pines 
themselves.  The  dominant  greatness  that  Linda 
had  found  in  this  man  rose  in  him,  and  he  set  his 
muscles  like  iron. 

He  struggled  to  rise.  He  shook  off  the  mists  of 
the  frost  in  his  brain.  He  seemed  to  come  to  life. 
Quickly  he  knelt  by  Linda  and  shook  her  shoulders 
in  his  hands.  She  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Get  up,  Linda,"  he  said  gently.  "  We  have  to 
go  on." 

She  started  to  object,  but  a  message  in  his  eyes 
kept  her  from  it.  His  own  spirit  went  into  her. 
He  helped  her  to  her  feet. 

"  Help  me  roll  the  blankets,"  he  commanded, 
"  and  take  out  enough  food  for  breakfast.  We 
can't  stop  to  eat  it  here.  I  think  we  're  in  sight  of 
the  main  trail;  whether  we  can  find  it  —  in 
the  snow  —  I  don't  know."  She  understood ; 
usually  the  absence  of  vegetation  on  a  well-worn 
trail  makes  a  shallow  covering  of  snow  appear  more 
level  and  smooth  and  thus  possible  to  follow. 


The   Coming  of  the  Strength      281 

"  I  'm  afraid  the  snow  's  already  too  deep,"  He 
continued,  "  but  we  can  go  on  in  a  general  direction 
for  a  while  at  least  —  unless  the  snow  gets  worse 
so  I  can't  even  guess  the  position  of  the  sun.  We 
must  get  farther  into  the  thickets  before  we  stop 
to  eat." 

They  were  strange  figures  in  the  snow  flurries 
as  they  went  to  work  to  roll  the  blankets  into  a  com- 
pact bundle.  The  food  she  had  taken  from  their 
stores  for  breakfast  he  thrust  into  the  pocket  of 
his  coat;  the  rest,  with  the  blankets,  she  tied  swiftly 
on  the  horse.  They  unfastened  the  animal  and  for 
a  moment  she  stood  holding  the  reins  while  Bruce 
crept  back  on  the  hillside  to  look  for  the  trail. 

The  snow  swept  round  them,  and  they  felt  the 
lowering  menace  of  the  cold.  And  at  that  instant 
those  dread  spirits  that  rule  the  wilderness,  jealous 
then  and  jealous  still  of  the  intrusion  of  man,  dealt 
them  a  final,  deadly  blow. 

Its  weapon  was  just  a  sound  —  a  loud  crash  in 
a  distant  thicket  —  and  a  pungent  message  on  the 
wind  that  their  human  senses  were  too  blunt  to  re- 
ceive. Bruce  saw  the  full  dreadfulness  of  the  blow 
and  was  powerless  to  save.  The  horse  suddenly 
snorted  loudly,  then  reared  up.  He  saw  as  in  a 
tragic  dream  the  girl  struggle  to  hold  him;  he  saw 
her  pulled  down  into  the  snow  and  the  rein  jerked 
from  her  hand.  Then  the  animal  plunged,  wheeled, 
and  raced  at  top  speed  away  into  the  snow  flurries. 
Some  Terror  that  as  yet  they  could  not  name  had 
broken  their  control  of  him  and  in  an  instant  taken 
from  them  this  one  last  hope  of  safety. 


XXXII 

BRUCE  walked  over  to  Linda,  waiting  in  the 
snow  on  her  knees.  It  was  not  an  intentional  pos- 
ture. She  had  been  jerked  down  by  the  plunging 
horse,  and  she  had  not  yet  completely  risen.  But 
the  sight  of  her  slight  figure,  her  raised  white  face, 
her  clasped  hands,  and  the  remorseless  snow  of  the 
wilderness  about  her  moved  Bruce  to  his  depths. 
He  saw  her  but  dimly  in  the  snow  flurries,  and  she 
looked  as  if  she  were  in  an  attitude  of  prayer. 

He  came  rather  slowly,  and  he  even  smiled  a 
little.  And  she  gave  him  a  wan,  strange,  little  smile 
in  return. 

'  We  're  down  to  cases  at  last,"  he  said,  with  a 
rather  startling  quietness  of  tone.  '  You  see  what 
it  means? " 

She  nodded,  then  got  to  her  feet. 

"  We  can  walk  out,  if  we  are  let  alone  and  given 
time;  it  is  n't  that  we  are  obliged  to  have  the  horse. 
But  our  blankets  are  on  its  back,  and  this  storm  is 
steadily  becoming  a  blizzard.  And  you  see  —  time 
is  one  thing  that  we  don't  have.  No  human  being 
can  stand  this  cold  for  long  unprotected." 

"And  we  can't  keep  going  —  keep  warm  by 
walking?  " 

His  answer  was  to  take  out  his  knife  and  put  the 
point  of  the  steel  to  his  thumb  nail.  His  eyes 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      283 

strained,  then  looked  up.  "  ^  little  way,"  he  an- 
swered, "  but  we  can't  keep  our  main  directions. 
The  sun  does  n't  even  cast  a  shadow  on  my  nail  to 
show  us  which  is  west.  We  could  keep  up  a  while, 
perhaps,  but  there  is  no  end  to  this  wilderness  and 
at  noon  or  to-night  —  the  result  would  be  the 


same." 


"  And  it  means  —  the  end?  " 

"  If  I  can't  catch  the  horse.  I  'm  going  now. 
If  we  can  regain  the  blankets  —  by  getting  in  rifle 
range  of  the  horse  —  we  might  make  some  sort  of 
shelter  in  the  snow  and  last  out  until  we  can  see 
our  way  and  get  our  bearings.  You  don't  know 
of  any  shelter  —  any  cave  or  cabin  where  we  might 
build  a  fire?" 

"  No.  There  are  some  in  the  hills,  but  we  can't 
see  our  way  to  find  them." 

"  I  know.  I  should  have  thought  of  that.  And 
you  see,  we  can't  build  a  fire  here  —  everything  is 
wet,  and  the  snow  is  beginning  to  whirl  so  we 
could  n't  keep  it  going.  If  we  should  stagger  on  all 
day  in  this  storm  and  this  snow,  we  could  n't  en- 
dure the  night."  He  smiled  again.  "  And  I  want 
you  to  climb  a  tree  —  and  stay  there  —  until  I  come 
back." 

She  looked  at  him  dully.  "What's  the  use, 
Bruce?  You  won't  come  back.  You  '11  chase  the 
thing  until  you  die  —  I  know  you.  You  don't 
know  when  to  give  up.  And  if  you  want  to  come 
back  —  you  could  n't  find  the  way.  I  'm  going 
with  you." 

"  No."     Once  more  she  started  to  disobey,  but 


.284      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

the  grave  displeasure  in  his  eyes  restrained  her. 
"  It 's  going  to  take  all  my  strength  to  fight  through 
that  snow  —  I  must  go  fast  —  and  maybe  life  and 
death  will  have  to  depend  on  your  strength  at  the 
end  of  the  trail.  You  must  save  it  —  the  little  you 
have  left.  I  can  find  my  way  back  to  you  by  fol- 
lowing my  own  tracks  —  the  snow  won't  fill  them 
up  so  soon.  And  since  I  must  take  the  rifle  —  to 
shoot  the  horse  if  I  can't  catch  him  —  you  must 
climb  a  tree.  You  know  why." 

"  Partly  to  hide  from  Simon  if  he  comes  this  way. 
And  partly  —  " 

"  Because  there  's  some  danger  in  that  thicket 
beyond!"  he  interrupted  her.  "  The  horse's  terror 
was  real  —  besides,  you  heard  the  sound.  It  might 
be  only  a  puma.  But  it  might  be  —  the  Killer. 
Swing  your  arms  and  struggle  all  you  can  to  keep 
the  blood  flowing.  I  won't  be  gone  long." 

He  started  to  go,  and  she  ran  after  him  with  out- 
stretched arms.  "  Oh,  Bruce,"  she  cried,  "  come 
back  soon  —  soon.  Don't  leave  me  to  die  alone. 
I  'm  not  strong  enough  for  that  —  " 

He  whirled,  took  two  paces  back,  and  his  arms 
went  about  her.  He  had  forgotten  his  injury  long 
since.  He  kissed  her  cool  lips  and  smiled  into  her 
eyes.  Then  at  once  the  flurries  hid  him. 

The  girl  climbed  up  into  the  branches  of  a  fir 
tree.  In  the  thicket  beyond  a  great  gray  form 
tacked  back  and  forth,  trying  to  locate  a  scent  that 
a  second  before  he  had  caught  but  dimly  and  had 
lost.  It  was  the  Killer,  and  his  temper  was  lost 
long  ago  in  the  whirling  snow.  His  anger  was 


The   Coming  of  the  Strength      285 

upon  him,  partly  from  the  discomfort  of  the  storm, 
partly  from  the  constant,  gnawing  pain  of  three 
bullet  wounds  in  his  powerful  body.  Besides,  he 
realized  the  presence  of  his  old  and  greatest  enemy, 
—  those  tall,  slight  forms  that  had  crossed  him  so 
many  times,  that  had  stung  him  with  their  bullets, 
and  whose  weakness  he  had  learned. 

The  wind  was  variable,  and  all  at  once  he  caught 
the  scent  plain.  He  lurched  forward,  crashed 
again  through  the  brush,  and  walked  out  into  the 
snow-swept  open.  Linda  saw  his  vague  outline, 
and  at  first  she  hung  perfectly  motionless,  hoping 
to  escape  his  gaze.  She  had  been  told  many  times 
that  grizzlies  cannot  climb,  yet  she  had  no  desire  to 
see  him  raging  below  her,  reaching,  possibly  trying 
to  shake  her  from  the  limbs.  Her  muscles  were 
stiff  and  inactive  from  the  cold,  and  she  doubted  her 
ability  to  hold  on.  Besides,  in  that  dread  moment 
she  found  it  hard  to  believe  that  the  Killer  would 
not  be  able  to  swing  into  the  lower  limbs,  high 
enough  to  strike  her  down. 

He  did  n't  seem  to  see  her.  His  eyes  were  low- 
ered ;  besides,  it  was  never  the  grizzly  way  to  search 
the  branches  of  a  tree.  The  wind  blew  the  message 
that  he  might  have  read  clearly  in  the  opposite  di- 
rection. She  saw  him  walk  slowly  across  the  snow, 
head  lowered,  a  huge  gray  ghost  in  the  snow  flurries 
not  one  hundred  feet  distant.  Then  she  saw  him 
pause,  with  lowered  head. 

In  the  little  second  before  the  truth  came  to  her, 
the  bear  had  already  turned.  Brace's  tracks  were 
somewhat  dimmed  by  the  snow,  but  the  Killer  in- 


286      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

terpreted  them  truly.  She  saw  too  late  that  he  had 
crossed  them,  read  their  message,  and  now  had 
turned  into  the  clouds  of  snow  to  trace  them  down. 

For  an  instant  she  gazed  at  him  in  speechless  hor- 
ror; and  already  the  flurries  had  almost  obscured 
his  gray  figure.  Desperately  she  tried  to  call  his 
attention  from  the  tracks.  She  called,  then  she 
rustled  the  branches  as  loudly  as  she  could.  But 
the  noise  of  the  wind  obscured  what  sound  she  made, 
and  the  bear  was  already  too  absorbed  in  the  hunt 
to  turn  and  see  her.  As  always,  in  the  nearing 
presence  of  a  foe,  his  rage  grew  upon  him. 

Sobbing,  Linda  swung  down  from  the  tree.  She 
had  no  conscious  plan  of  aid  to  her  lover.  She  only 
had  a  blind  instinct  to  seek  him,  to  try  to  warn  him 
of  his  danger,  and  at  least  to  be  with  him  at  the 
death.  The  great  tracks  of  the  Killer,  seemingly 
almost  as  long  as  her  own  arm,  made  a  plain  trail 
for  her  to  follow.  She  too  struck  off  into  the  storm- 
swept  canyon. 

And  the  forest  gods  who  dwell  somewhere  in  the 
region  where  the  pine  tops  taper  into  the  sky,  and 
who  pull  the  strings  that  drop  and  raise  the  curtain 
and  work  the  puppets  that  are  the  players  of  the 
wilderness  dramas,  saw  a  chance  for  a  great  and 
tragic  jest  in  this  strange  chase  over  the  snow. 
The  destinies  of  Bruce,  Linda,  and  the  Killer  were 
already  converging  on  this  trail  that  all  three  fol- 
lowed, —  the  path  that  the  runaway  horse  made  in 
the  snow.  Only  one  of  the  great  forces  of  the  war 
that  had  been  waged  at  Trail's  End  was  lacking, 
and  now  he  came  also. 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      287 

Simon  Turner  had  ridden  late  into  the  night  and 
from  before  dawn;  with  remorseless  fury  he  had 
goaded  on  his  exhausted  horse,  he  had  driven  him 
with  unpitying  strength  through  coverts,  over  great 
rocks,  down  into  rocky  canyons  in  search  of  Bruce 
and  Linda,  and  now,  as  the  dawn  broke,  he  thought 
that  he  had  found  them.  He  had  suddenly  come 
upon  the  tracks  of  Bruce's  horse  in  the  snow. 

If  he  had  encountered  them  farther  back,  when 
the  animal  had  been  running  wildly,  he  might  have 
guessed  the  truth  and  rejoiced.  No  man  would 
attempt  to  ride  a  horse  at  a  gallop  through  that 
trailless  stretch.  But  at  the  point  he  found  the 
tracks  most  of  the  horse's  terror  had  been  spent, 
and  it  was  walking  leisurely,  sometimes  lowering 
its  head  to  crop  the  shrubbery.  The  trail  was  com- 
paratively fresh  too;  or  else  the  fast- falling  snow 
would  have  already  obscured  it.  He  thought  that 
his  hour  of  triumph  was  near. 

But  it  had  come  none  too  soon.  And  Simon  — 
out  of  passion-filled  eyes  —  looked  and  saw  that  it 
would  likely  bring  death  with  it. 

He  realized  his  position  fully.  The  storm  was 
steadily  developing  into  one  of  those  terrible 
mountain  blizzards  in  which,  without  shelter,  no  hu- 
man being  might  live.  He  was  far  from  his  home, 
he  had  no  blankets,  and  he  could  not  find  his  way. 
Yet  he  would  not  have  turned  back  if  he  could. 

In  all  the  manifold  mysteries  of  the  wilderness 
there  was  no  stranger  thing  than  this:  that  in  the 
face  of  his  passion  Simon  had  forgotten  and  ig- 
nored even  that  deepest  instinct,  self-preservation. 


288      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

Nothing  mattered  any  more  except  his  hatred. 
No  desire  was  left  except  its  expression. 

The  securing  of  the  document  by  which  Bruce 
could  take  the  great  estates  from  him  was  only  a 
trifle  now.  He  believed  wholly  within  his  own  soul 
that  the  wilderness  —  without  his  aid  —  would  do 
his  work  of  hatred  for  him;  and  that  by  no  con- 
ceivable circumstances  could  Bruce  and  Linda  find 
shelter  from  the  blizzard  and  live  through  the  day. 
He  could  find  their  bodies  in  the  spring  if  he  by  any 
chance  escaped  himself,  and  take  the  Ross-Folger 
agreement  from  them.  But  it  was  not  enough. 
He  wanted  also  to  do  the  work  of  destruction. 

Even  his  own  death  —  if  it  were  only  delayed 
until  his  vengeance  was  wreaked  —  could  not  mat- 
ter now.  In  all  the  ancient  strife  and  fury  and 
ceaseless  war  of  the  wild  through  which  he  had 
come,  there  was  no  passion  to  equal  this.  The 
Killer  was  content  to  let  the  wolf  kill  the  fawn  for 
him.  The  cougar  will  turn  from  its  warm,  newly 
slain  prey,  in  which  its  white  fangs  have  already 
dipped,  at  the  sight  of  some  great  danger  in  the 
thickets.  But  Simon  could  not  turn.  Death  low- 
ered its  wings  upon  him  as  well  as  upon  his  enemy, 
yet  the  fire  in  his  heart  and  the  fury  in  his  brain  shut 
out  all  thought  of  it. 

He  sprang  off  his  horse  better  to  examine  the 
tracks,  and  then  stood,  half  bent  over,  in  the  snow. 

Bruce  Folger  headed  swiftly  up  the  trail  that 
his  runaway  horse  had  made.  It  was,  he  thought, 
his  last  effort,  and  he  gave  his  full  strength  to  it. 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      289 

Weakened  as  he  was  by  the  cold  and  the  wound,  he 
could  not  have  made  headway  at  all  except  for  the 
fact  that  the  wind  was  behind  him. 

The  snow  ever  fell  faster,  in  larger  flakes,  and 
the  track  dimmed  before  his  eyes.  It  was  a  losing 
game.  Terrified  not  only  by  the  beast  that  had 
stirred  in  the  thicket  but  by  the  ever-increasing  wind 
as  well,  the  animal  would  not  linger  to  be  overtaken. 
Bruce  had  not  ridden  it  enough  to  have  tamed  it, 
and  his  plan  was  to  attempt  to  shoot  the  creature 
on  sight,  rather  than  try  to  catch  it.  They  could 
not  go  forward,  anyway,  as  long  as  the  blizzard 
lasted.  Which  way  was  east  and  which  was  west 
he  could  no  longer  guess.  And  with  the  blankets 
they  might  make  some  sort  of  shelter  and  keep 
life  in  their  bodies  until  the  snow  ceased  and  they 
could  find  their  way. 

The  cold  was  deepening,  the  storm  was  increas- 
ing in  fury.  Bruce's  bones  ached,  his  wounded 
arm  felt  numb  and  strange,  the  frost  was  getting 
into  his  lungs.  The  wind's  breath  was  ever  keener, 
its  whistle  was  louder  in  the  pines.  There  was  no 
hope  of  the  storm  decreasing,  rather  it  was  steadily 
growing  worse.  And  Bruce  had  some  pre-knowl- 
edge  —  an  inheritance,  perhaps,  from  frontier  an- 
cestors —  of  the  real  nature  of  the  mountain  bliz- 
zard such  as  was  descending  on  him  now.  It  was  a 
losing  fight.  All  the  optimism  of  youth  and  the 
spirit  of  the  angels  could  not  deny  this  fact. 

The  tracks  grew  more  dim,  and  he  began  to  be 
afraid  that  the  falling  flakes  would  obscure  his  own 
footprints  so  that  he  could  not  find  his  way  back  to 


290       The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

Linda.  And  he  knew,  beyond  all  other  knowledge, 
that  he  wanted  her  with  him  when  the  shadows 
dropped  down  for  good  and  all.  He  could  n't  face 
them  bravely  alone.  He  wanted  her  arms  about 
him ;  the  flight  would  be  easier  then. 

"  Oh,  what 's  the  use?  "  he  suddenly  said  to  the 
wind.  "  Why  not  give  up  and  go  back?  " 

He  halted  in  the  trail  and  started  to  turn.  But 
at  that  instant  a  banner  of  wind  swept  down  into 
his  face,  and  the  eddy  of  snow  in  front  of  him  was 
brushed  from  his  gaze.  Just  for  the  space  of  a 
breath  the  canyon  for  a  hundred  feet  distant  was 
partially  cleared  of  the  blinding  streamers  of  snow. 
And  he  uttered  a  long  gasp  when  he  saw,  thirty 
yards  distant  and  at  the  farthest  reaches  of  his 
sight,  the  figure  of  a  saddled  horse. 

His  gun  leaped  to  his  shoulder,  yet  his  eagerness 
did  not  cost  him  his  self-control.  He  gazed  quietly 
along  the  sights  until  he  saw  the  animal's  shoulder 
between  them.  His  finger  pressed  back  against 
the  trigger. 

The  horse  rocked  down,  seemingly  instantly 
killed,  and  the  snow  swept  in  between.  Bruce  cried 
out  in  triumph.  Then  he  broke  into  a  run  and  sped 
through  the  flurries  toward  his  dead. 

But  it  came  about  that  there  was  other  business 
for  Bruce  than  the  recovery  of  his  blankets  that  he 
had  supposed  would  be  tied  to  the  saddle.  The 
snow  was  thick  between,  and  he  was  within  twenty 
feet  of  the  animal's  body  before  he  glimpsed  it 
clearly  again.  And  he  felt  the  first  wave  of  won- 
der, the  first  promptings  of  the  thought  that  the 


The   Coming  of  the  Strength      291 

horse  he  had  shot  down  was  not  his,  but  one  that  he 
had  never  seen  before. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  the  thought  to  go  fully 
home.  Some  one  cried  out  —  a  strange,  half -snarl 
of  hatred  and  triumph  that  was  almost  lacking  in 
all  human  quality  —  and  a  man's  body  leaped  to- 
ward him  from  the  thicket  before  which  the  horse 
had  fallen.  It  was  Simon,  and  Bruce  had  mis- 
taken his  horse  for  the  one  he  had  ridden. 


XXXIII 

EVEN  in  that  instant  crisis  Bruce  did  not  forget 
that  he  had  as  yet  neglected  to  expel  the  empty 
cartridge  from  the  barrel  of  his  rifle  and  to  throw 
in  the  other  from  the  magazine.  He  tried  to  get  the 
gun  to  his  shoulder,  working  the  lever  at  the  same 
time.  But  Simon's  leap  was  too  fast  for  him.  His 
strong  hand  seized  the  barrel  of  the  gun  and 
snatched  it  from  his  hands.  Then  the  assailant 
threw  it  back,  over  his  shoulder,  and  it  fell  softly 
in  the  snow.  He  waited,  crouched. 

The  two  men  stood  face  to  face  at  last.  All 
things  else  were  forgotten.  The  world  they  had 
known  before  —  a  world  of  sorrow  and  pleasures, 
of  mountains  and  woods  and  homes  —  faded  out 
and  left  no  realities  except  each  other's  presence. 
All  about  them  were  the  snow  flurries  that  their 
eyes  could  not  penetrate,  and  it  was  as  if  they  were 
two  lone  contestants  on  an  otherwise  uninhabited 
sphere  who  had  come  to  grips  at  last.  The  falling 
snow  gave  the  whole  picture  a  curious  tone  of  un- 
reality and  dimness. 

Bruce  straightened,  and  his  face  was  of  iron. 
'  Well,  Simon,"  he  said.  "  You  Ve  come." 

The  man's  eyes  burned  red  through  the  snow. 
"  Of  course  I  would.  Did  you  think  you  could 
escape  me?  " 


The   Coming  of  the  Strength      293 

"  It  did  n't  much  matter  whether  I  escaped 
you  or  not,"  Bruce  answered  rather  quietly. 
"  Neither  one  of  us  is  going  to  escape  the  storm  and 
the  cold.  I  suppose  you  know  that." 

"I  know  that  one  of  us  is.  Because  one  of  us  is 
going  out  —  a  more  direct  way  —  first.  Which 
one  that  is  doesn't  much  matter."  His  great 
hands  clasped.  "  Bruce,  when  I  snatched  your  gun 
right  now  I  could  have  done  more.  I  could  have 
sprung  a  few  feet  farther  and  had  you  around  the 
waist  —  taken  by  surprise.  The  fight  would 
have  been  already  over.  I  think  I  could  have  done 
more  than  that  even  —  with  my  own  rifle  as  you 
came  up.  It 's  laying  there,  just  beside  the  horse." 

But  Bruce  did  n't  turn  his  eyes  to  look  at  it.  He 
was  waiting  for  the  attack. 

"  I  could  have  snatched  your  life  just  as  well, 
but  I  wanted  to  wait,"  Simon  went  on.  "  I  wanted 
to  say  a  few  words  first,  and  wanted  to  master  you 
—  not  by  surprise  —  but  by  superior  strength 
alone." 

It  came  into  Bruce's  mind  that  he  could  tell 
Simon  of  the  wound  near  his  shoulder,  how  be- 
cause of  it  no  fight  between  them  would  be  a  fair 
test  of  superiority,  yet  the  words  did  n't  come  to  his 
lips.  He  could  not  ask  mercy  of  this  man,  either 
directly  or  indirectly,  any  more  than  the  pines  asked 
mercy  of  the  snows  that  covered  them. 

'  You  were  right  when  you  said  there  is  no  es- 
caping from  this  storm,"  Simon  went  on.  "  But  it 
does  n't  much  matter.  It 's  the  end  of  a  long  war, 
and  what  happens  to  the  victor  is  neither  here  nor 


294      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

there.  It  seems  all  the  more  fitting  that  we  should 
meet  just  as  we  have  —  at  the  very  brink  of  death 
—  and  Death  should  be  waiting  at  the  end  for  the 
one  of  us  who  survives.  It 's  so  like  this  damned, 
terrible  wilderness  in  which  we  live." 

Bruce  gazed  in  amazement.  The  dark  and 
dreadful  poetry  of  this  man's  nature  was  coming  to 
the  fore.  The  wind  made  a  strange  echo  to  his 
words,  —  a  long,  wild  shriek  as  it  swept  over  the 
heads  of  the  pines. 

'  Then  why  are  you  waiting?  "  Bruce  asked. 

"So  you  can  understand  everything.  But  I 
guess  that  time  is  here.  There  is  to  be  no  mercy 
at  the  end  of  this  fight,  Bruce;  I  ask  none  and  will 
give  none.  You  have  waged  a  war  against  me, 
you  have  escaped  me  many  times,  you  have  won  the 
love  of  the  woman  I  love  —  and  this  is  to  be  my 
answer."  His  voice  dropped  a  note  and  he  spoke 
more  quietly.  "  I  'm  going  to  kill  you,  Bruce." 

"  Then  try  it,"  Bruce  answered  steadily.  "  I  'm 
in  a  hurry  to  go  back  to  Linda." 

Simon's  smoldering  wrath  blazed  up  at  the 
words.  Both  men  seemed  to  spring  at  the  same 
time.  Their  arms  flailed,  then  interlocked;  and 
they  rocked  a  long  time  —  back  and  forth  in  the 
snow. 

They  fought  in  silence.  The  flurries  dropped 
over  them,  and  the  wind  swept  by  in  its  frantic 
wandering.  Bruce  called  upon  his  last  ounce  of  re- 
serve strength,  —  that  mysterious  force  that  al- 
ways sweeps  to  a  man's  aid  in  a  moment  of  crisis. 

For  the  first  time  he  had  full  realization  of  Si- 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      295 

mon's  mighty  strength.  With  all  the  power  of  his 
body  he  tried  to  wrench  him  off  his  feet,  but  it  was 
like  trying  to  tear  a  tree  from  the  ground. 

But  surprise  at  the  other's  power  was  not  con- 
fined to  Bruce  alone.  Simon  knew  that  he  had  an 
opponent  worthy  of  the  iron  of  his  own  muscles, 
and  he  put  all  his  terrible  might  into  the  battle. 
He  tried  to  reach  Bruce's  throat,  but  the  man's 
strong  shoulder  held  the  arm  against  his  side.  Si- 
mon's great  hand  reached  to  pin  Bruce's  arm,  and 
for  the  first  time  he  discovered  the  location  of  his 
weakness. 

He  saw  the  color  sweep  from  Bruce's  face  and 
water  drops  that  were  not  melted  snow  come  upon 
it.  It  was  all  the  advantage  needed  between  such 
evenly  matched  contestants.  And  Simon  forgot 
his  spoken  word  that  he  wished  this  fight  to  be  a 
test  of  superiority  alone.  His  fury  swept  over  him 
like  a  flood  and  effaced  all  things  else ;  and  he  cen- 
tered his  whole  attack  upon  Bruce's  wound. 

In  a  moment  he  had  him  down,  and  he  struck  once 
into  Bruce's  white  face  with  his  terrible  knuckles. 
The  blow  sent  a  strange  sickness  through 
the  younger  man's  frame;  and  he  tried  vainly 
to  struggle  to  his  feet.  "  Fight!  Fight  on!  "  was 
the  message  his  mind  dispatched  along  his  nerves 
to  his  tortured  muscles,  but  for  an  instant  they 
wholly  refused  to  respond.  They  had  endured  too 
much.  Total  unconsciousness  hovered  above  him, 
ready  to  descend. 

Strangely,  he  seemed  to  know  that  Simon  had 
crept  from  his  body  and  was  even  now  reaching 


296      The   Strength  of  the   Pines 

some  dreadful  weapon  that  lay  beside  the  dead 
form  of  the  horse.  In  an  instant  he  had  it,  and 
Brace's  eyes  opened  in  time  to  see  him  swinging  it 
aloft.  It  was  his  rifle,  and  Simon  was  aiming  a 
murderous  blow  at  him  with  its  stock. 

There  was  no  chance  to  ward  it  off.  No  human 
skull  could  withstand  its  shattering  impact.  Bruce 
saw  the  man's  dark  face  with  the  murder  madness 
upon  it,  the  blazing  eyes,  the  lips  drawn  back.  The 
muscles  contracted  to  deal  the  blow. 

But  that  war  of  life  and  death  in  the  far  reaches 
of  Trail's  End  was  not  to  end  so  soon.  At  that  in- 
stant there  was  an  amazing  intervention. 

A  great  gray  form  came  lunging  out  of  the 
snow  flurries.  Their  vision  was  limited  to  a  few 
feet,  and  so  fast  the  creature  came,  with  such  in- 
credible, smashing  power,  that  he  was  upon  them 
in  a  breath.  It  was  the  Killer  in  the  full  glory 
of  the  charge;  and  he  had  caught  up  with  them  at 
last. 

Bruce  saw  only  his  great  figure  looming  just  over 
him.  Simon,  with  amazing  agility,  leaped  to  one 
side  just  in  time,  then  battered  down  the  rifle  stock 
with  all  his  strength.  But  the  blow  was  not  meant 
for  Bruce.  It  struck  where  aimed,  —  the  great 
gray  shoulder  of  the  grizzly. 

Then,  dimmed  and  half -obscured  by  the  snow 
flurries,  there  began  as  strange  a  battle  as  the  great 
pines  above  them  had  ever  beheld.  The  Killer's 
rage  was  upon  him,  and  the  blow  at  the  shoulder 
had  arrested  his  charge  for  a  moment  only.  Then 
he  wheeled,  a  snarling,  fighting  monster  with  death 


The   Coming  of  the  Strength      297 

for  any  living  creature  in  the  blow  of  his  forearm, 
and  lunged  toward  Simon  again. 

It  was  the  Killer  at  his  grandest.  The  little 
eyes  blazed,  the  neck  hair  bristled,  he  struck  with 
forearms  and  jaws  —  lashing,  lunging,  recoiling 

—  all  the  terrible  might  and  fury  of  the  wilderness 
centered    and    personified    in    his    mighty    form. 
Simon  had  no  chance  to  shoot  his  rifle.     In  the  in- 
stant that  he  would  raise  it  those  great  claws  and 
fangs  would  be  upon  him.     He  swung  it  as  a  club, 
striking  again  and  again,  dodging  the  sledge-ham- 
mer blows  and  springing  aside  in  the  second  of  the 
Killer's  lunges.     He  was  fighting  for  his  life,  and 
no  eye  could  bemean  that  effort. 

Simon  himself  seemed  exalted,  and  for  once  it 
appeared  that  the  grizzly  had  found  an  opponent 
worthy  of  his  might.  It  was  all  so  fitting:  that 
these  two  mighty  powers,  typifying  all  that  is  re- 
morseless and  terrible  in  the  wild,  should  clash  at 
last  in  the  gathering  fury  of  the  storm.  They  were 
of  one  kind,  and  they  seemed  to  understand  each 
other.  The  lust  and  passion  and  fury  of  battle 
were  upon  them  both. 

The  scene  harked  back  to  the  young  days  of  the 
world,  when  man  and  beast  battled  for  dominance. 
Nothing  had  changed.  The  forest  stood  grave  and 
silent,  just  the  same.  The  elements  warred  against 
them  from  the  clouds,  —  that  ancient  persecution 
of  which  the  wolf  pack  sings  on  the  ridge  at  night, 
that  endless  strife  that  has  made  of  existence  a 
travail  and  a  scourge.  Man  and  beast  and  storm 

—  those  three  great  foes  were  arrayed  the  same  as 


298      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

ever.  Time  swung  backward  a  thousand-thousand 
years. 

The  storm  gathered  in  force.  The  full  strength 
of  the  blizzard  was  upon  them.  The  snow  seemed 
to  come  from  all  directions  in  great  clouds  and 
flurries  and  streamers,  and  time  after  time  it 
wholly  hid  the  contestants  from  Bruce's  eyes.  At 
such  times  he  could  tell  how  the  fight  was  going  by 
sound  alone,  —  the  snarls  of  the  Killer,  the  wild 
oaths  of  Simon,  the  impact  of  the  descending  rifle- 
butt.  Bruce  gave  no  thought  to  taking  part. 
Both  were  enemies;  his  own  strength  seemed  gone. 
The  cold  deepened;  Bruce  could  feel  it  creeping 
into  his  blood,  halting  its  flow,  threatening  the  spark 
of  life  within  him.  The  full  light  of  day  had  come 
out  upon  the  land. 

Bruce  knew  the  wilderness  now.  All  its  primi- 
tive passions  were  in  play,  all  its  mighty  forces  at 
grips.  The  storm  seemed  to  be  trying  to  extin- 
guish these  mortal  lives;  jealous  of  their  intrusion, 
longing  for  the  world  it  knew  before  living  things 
came  to  dwell  upon  it,  when  its  winds  swept  end- 
lessly over  an  uninhabited  earth,  and  its  winter 
snows  lay  trackless  and  its  rule  was  supreme.  And 
beneath  it,  blind  to  the  knowledge  that  in  union 
alone  lay  strength  to  oppose  its  might  —  to  oppose 
all  those  cruel  forces  that  make  a  battleground  of 
life  —  man  and  beast  fought  their  battle  to  the 
death. 

It  seemed  to  go  on  forever.  Linda  came  steal- 
ing out  of  the  snow  —  following  the  grizzly's  trail 
—  and  crept  beside  Bruce.  She  crouched  beside 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      299 

him,  and  his  arm  went  about  her  as  if  to  shield  her. 
She  had  heard  the  sounds  of  the  battle  from  afar; 
she  had  thought  that  Bruce  was  the  contestant,  and 
her  terror  had  left  a  deep  pallor  upon  her  face ;  yet 
now  she  gazed  upon  that  frightful  conflict  with  a 
strange  and  enduring  calm.  Both  she  and  Bruce 
knew  that  there  was  but  one  sure  conqueror,  and 
that  was  Death.  If  the  Killer  survived  the  fight 
and  through  the  mercy  of  the  forest  gods  spared 
their  lives,  there  remained  the  blizzard.  They  could 
conceive  of  no  circumstances  whereby  further  effort 
would  be  of  the  least  avail.  The  horse  on  which 
was  tied  their  scanty  blankets  was  miles  away  by 
now ;  its  tracks  were  obscured  in  the  snow,  and  they 
could  not  find  their  way  to  any  shelter  that  might 
be  concealed  among  the  ridges. 

The  scene  grew  in  fury.  The  last  burst  of 
strength  was  upon  Simon;  in  another  moment  he 
would  be  exhausted.  The  bear  had  suffered  ter- 
rible punishment  from  the  blows  of  the  rifle  stock. 
He  recoiled  once  more,  then  lunged  with  unbe- 
lievable speed.  His  huge  paw,  with  all  his  might 
behind  it,  struck  the  weapon  from  Simon's  hand. 

It  shot  through  the  air  seemingly  almost  as  fast 
as  the  bullets  it  had  often  propelled  from  its  muzzle 
and  struck  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  So  hard  it  came 
that  the  lock  was  shattered ;  they  heard  the  ring  of 
metal.  The  bear  rocked  forward  once  more  and 
struck  again.  And  then  all  the  sound  that  was  left 
was  the  eerie  complaint  of  the  wind. 

Simon  lay  still.  The  brave  fight  was  over.  His 
trial  had  ended  fittingly,  —  in  the  grip  of  such 


3 oo      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

powers  as  were  typical  of  himself.  But  the  bear 
did  not  leap  upon  him  to  tear  his  flesh.  For  an  in- 
stant he  stood  like  a  statue  in  gray  stone,  head  low- 
ered, as  if  in  a  strange  attitude  of  thought.  The 
snow  swept  over  him. 

Linda  and  Bruce  gazed  at  him  in  silent  awe. 
Some  way,  they  felt  no  fear.  No  room  in  their 
hearts  was  left  for  it  after  the  tumult  of  that  battle. 
The  great  grizzly  uttered  one  deep  note  and  half- 
turned  about.  His  eyes  rested  upon  the  twain, 
but  he  did  not  seem  to  see  them. 

The  fury  was  dead  within  him;  this  much  was 
plain.  The  hair  began  to  lie  down  at  his  shoul- 
ders. The  terrible  eyes  lost  their  fire.  Then  he 
turned  agr.in  and  headed  off  slowly,  deliberately, 
directly  into  the  face  of  the  storm. 


XXXIV 

THE  flurries  almost  immediately  obscured  the 
Killer's  form,  and  Bruce  turned  his  attention  back 
to  Linda.  "  It 's  the  end,"  he  said  quietly.  '  Why 
not  here  —  as  well  as  anywhere  else?  " 

But  before  the  question  was  finished,  a  strange 
note  had  come  into  his  voice.  It  was  as  if  his  atten- 
tion had  been  called  from  his  words  by  something 
much  more  momentous.  The  truth  was  that  it 
had  been  caught  and  held  by  a  curious  expression 
on  the  girl's  face. 

Some  great  idea,  partaking  of  the  nature  of  in- 
spiration, had  come  to  her.  He  saw  it  in  the  grow- 
ing light  in  her  eyes,  the  deepening  of  the  soft  lines 
of  her  face.  All  at  once  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"Bruce!"  she  cried.  "Perhaps  there's  a  way 
yet.  A  long,  long  chance,  but  maybe  a  way  yet. 
Get  your  rifle  —  Simon's  is  broken  —  and  come 
with  me." 

Without  waiting  for  him  to  rise  she  struck  off 
into  the  storm,  following  the  huge  footprints  of  the 
bear.  The  man  struggled  with  himself,  summoned 
all  that  was  left  of  his  reserve  supply  of  strength, 
and  leaped  up.  He  snatched  his  rifle  from  the 
ground  where  Simon  had  thrown  it,  and  in  an  in- 
stant was  beside  her.  Her  cheeks  were  blazing. 

"  Maybe  it  just  means  further  torture,"  she  con- 


302      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

fessed  to  him,  "  but  don't  you  want  to  make  every 
effort  we  can  to  save  ourselves?  Don't  you  want 
to  fight  till  the  last  breath?  " 

She  glanced  up  and  saw  her  answer  in  the  grow- 
ing strength  of  his  face.  Then  his  words  spoke  too. 
"  As  long  as  the  slightest  chance  remains,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"  And  you  11  forgive  me  if  it  comes  to  nothing?  " 

He  smiled,  dimly.  She  took  fresh  heart  when  she 
saw  he  still  had  strength  enough  to  smile.  "  You 
don't  have  to  ask  me  that." 

"  A  moment  ago  an  idea  came  to  me  —  it  came 
so  straight  and  sure  it  was  as  if  a  voice  told  me," 
she  explained  hurriedly.  She  didn't  look  at  him 
again.  She  kept  her  eyes  intent  upon  the  great 
footprints  in  the  snow.  To  miss  them  for  a  second 
meant,  in  that  world  of  whirling  snow,  to  lose  them 
forever.  "  It  was  after  the  bear  had  killed  Simon 
and  had  gone  away.  He  acted  exactly  as  if  he 
thought  of  something  and  went  out  to  do  it  —  ex- 
actly as  if  he  had  a  destination  in  view.  Didn't 
you  see  —  his  anger  seemed  to  die  in  him  and  he 
started  off  in  the  face  of  the  storm.  I  've  watched 
the  ways  of  animals  too  long  not  to  know  that  he 
had  something  in  view.  It  was  n't  food ;  he  would 
have  attacked  the  body  of  the  horse,  or  even  Simon's 
body.  If  he  had  just  been  running  away  or  wan- 
dering, he  would  have  gone  with  the  wind,  not 
against  it.  He  was  weakened  from  the  fight,  per- 
haps dying  —  and  I  think  —  " 

He  finished  the  sentence  for  her,  breathlessly. 
"  That  he  's  going  toward  shelter." 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      303 

"  Yes.  You  know,  Bruce  —  the  bears  hibernate 
every  year.  They  always  seem  to  have  places  all 
chosen  —  usually  caverns  in  the  hillsides  or  under 
uprooted  trees  —  and  when  the  winter  cuts  off  their 
supplies  of  food  they  go  straight  toward  them. 
That 's  my  one  hope  now  —  that  the  Killer  has  gone 
to  some  cave  he  knows  about  to  hibernate  until  this 
storm  is  over.  I  think  from  the  way  he  started  off, 
so  sure  and  so  straight,  that  it 's  near.  It  would 
be  dry  and  out  of  the  storm,  and  if  we  could  take  it 
away  from  him  we  could  make  a  fire  that  the  snow 
would  n't  put  out.  It  would  mean  life  —  and  we 
could  go  on  when  the  storm  is  over." 

"  You  remember  —  we  have  only  one  cartridge." 

"  Yes,  I  know  —  I  heard  you  fire.  And  it 's 
only  a  thirty-thirty  at  that.  It 's  a  risk  —  as  ter- 
rible a  risk  as  we  've  yet  run.  But  it 's  a  chance." 

They  talked  no  more.  Instead,  they  walked  as 
fast  as  they  could  into  the  face  of  the  storm.  It 
was  a  moment  of  respite.  This  new  hope  returned 
some  measure  of  their  strength  to  them.  They 
walked  much  more  swiftly  than  the  bear,  and  they 
could  tell  by  the  appearance  of  the  tracks  that 
they  were  but  a  few  yards  behind  him. 

"  He  won't  smell  us,  the  wind  blowing  as  it  does," 
Linda  encouraged.  "  And  he  won't  hear  us  either." 

Now  the  tracks  were  practically  unspotted  with 
the  flakes.  They  strained  into  the  flurries.  Now 
they  walked  almost  in  silence,  their  footfall  muffled 
in  the  snow. 

They  soon  became  aware  that  they  were  mount- 
ing a  low  ridge.  They  left  the  underbrush  and 


304      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

emerged  into  the  open  timber.  And  all  at  once 
Bruce,  who  now  walked  in  front,  paused  with  lifted 
hand,  and  pointed.  Dim  through  the  flurries  they 
made  out  the  outline  of  the  bear.  And  Linda's  in- 
spiration had  come  true. 

There  was  a  ledge  of  rocks  just  in  front  —  a 
place  such  as  the  rattlesnakes  had  loved  in  the  blast- 
ing sun  of  summer  —  and  a  black  hole  yawned  in 
its  side.  The  aperture  had  been  almost  covered 
with  the  snow,  and  they  saw  that  the  great  creature 
was  scooping  away  the  remainder  of  the  white  drift 
with  his  paw.  As  they  waited,  the  opening  grew 
steadily  wider,  revealing  the  mouth  of  a  little  cav- 
ern in  the  face  of  the  rock. 

"Shoot!"  Linda  whispered.  "If  he  gets  in- 
side we  won't  be  able  to  get  him  out." 

But  Bruce  shook  his  head,  then  stole  nearer. 
She  understood;  he  had  only  one  cartridge,  and  he 
must  not  take  the  risk  of  wounding  the  animal. 
The  fire  had  to  be  centered  on  a  vital  place. 

He  walked  steadily  nearer  until  it  seemed  to 
Linda  he  would  advance  straight  into  reach  of  the 
terrible  claws.  He  held  the  rifle  firmly;  his  jaw 
was  set,  his  face  white,  his  eyes  straight  and  strong 
with  the  strength  of  the  pines  themselves.  He  went 
as  softly  as  he  could  —  nearer,  ever  nearer — -the 
rifle  cocked  and  ready  in  his  hands. 

The  Killer  turned  his  head  and  saw  Bruce.  Rage 
flamed  again  in  his  eyes.  He  half -turned  about; 
then  poised  to  charge. 

The  gun  moved  swiftly,  easily,  to  the  man's 
shoulder,  his  chin  dropped  down,  his  straight  eyes 


The   Coming  of  the   Strength      305 

gazed  along  the  barrel.  In  spite  of  his  wound 
never  had  human  arms  held  more  steady  than  his 
did  then.  And  he  marked  the  little  space  of  gray 
squarely  between  the  two  reddening  eyes. 

The  finger  pressed  back  steadily  against  the  trig- 
ger. The  rifle  cracked  in  the  silence.  And  then 
there  was  a  curious  effect  of  tableau,  a  long  second 
in  which  all  three  figures  seemed  to  stand  deathly 
still. 

The  bear  leaped  forward,  and  it  seemed  wholly 
impossible  to  Linda  that  Bruce  could  swerve  aside 
in  time  to  avoid  the  blow.  She  cried  out  in  horror 
as  the  great  paws  whipped  down  in  the  place  where 
Bruce  had  stood.  But  the  man  had  been  prepared 
for  this  very  recoil,  and  he  had  sprung  aside  just  as 
the  claws  raked  past. 

And  the  Killer  would  hunt  no  more  in  Trail's 
End.  At  the  end  of  that  leap  he  fell,  his  great  body 
quivering  strangely  in  the  snow.  The  lead  had 
gone  straight  home  where  it  had  been  aimed,  and 
the  charge  itself  had  been  mostly  muscular  reflex. 
He  lay  still  at  last,  a  gray,  mammoth  figure  that 
was  majestic  even  in  death. 

No  more  would  the  deer  shudder  with  terror  at 
the  sound  of  his  heavy  step  in  the  thicket.  No 
more  would  the  herds  fly  into  stampede  at  the  sight 
of  his  great  shadow  on  the  moonlit  grass.  The  last 
of  the  Oregon  grizzlies  had  gone  the  way  of  all  his 
breed. 

To  Bruce  and  Linda,  standing  breathless  and 
awed  in  the  snow-flurries,  his  death  imaged  the 


306      The   Strength   of  the   Pines 

passing  of  an  old  order  —  the  last  stand  that  the 
forces  of  the  wild  had  made  against  conquering 
man.  But  there  was  pathos  in  it  too.  There  was 
the  symbol  of  mighty  breeds  humbled  and  de- 
stroyed. 

But  the  pines  were  left.  Those  eternal  symbols 
of  the  wilderness  —  and  of  powers  beyond  the 
wilderness  —  still  stood  straight  and  grand  and  im- 
passive above  them.  While  these  two  lived,  at 
least,  they  would  still  keep  their  watch  over  the 
wilderness,  they  would  still  stand  erect  and  brave 
to  the  buffeting  of  the  storm  and  snow,  and  in  their 
shade  dwelt  strength  and  peace. 

The  cavern  that  was  revealed  to  them  had  a  rock 
floor  and  had  been  hollowed  out  by  running  water 
in  ages  past.  Bruce  built  a  fire  at  its  mouth  of 
some  of  the  long  tree  roots  that  extended  down  into 
it,  and  the  life-giving  warmth  was  a  benediction. 
Already  the  drifting  snow  had  begun  to  cover  the 
aperture. 

'  We  can  wait  here  until  the  blizzard  is  done," 
Bruce  told  Linda,  as  she  sat  beside  him  in  the  soft 
glow  of  the  fire.  "  We  have  a  little  food,  and  we 
can  cut  more  from  the  body  of  the  grizzly  when  we 
need  it.  There  's  dead  wood  under  the  snow.  And 
when  the  storm  is  over,  we  can  get  our  bearings  and 
walk  out." 

She  sat  a  long  time  without  answering.  "  And 
after  that?  "  she  asked. 

He  smiled.  "  No  one  knows.  It 's  ten  days  be- 
fore the  thirtieth  —  the  blizzards  up  here  never  last 
over  three  or  four  days.  We  Ve  got  plenty  of  time 


The   Coining   of  the   Strength      307 

to  get  the  document  down  to  the  courts.  The  law 
will  deal  with  the  rest  of  the  Turners.  We  Ve  won, 
Linda." 

His  hands  groped  for  hers,  and  he  laid  it  against 
his  lips.  With  her  other  hand  she  stroked  his  snow- 
wet  hair.  Her  eyes  were  lustrous  in  the  firelight. 

"  And  after  that  —  after  all  that  is  settled?  You 
will  come  back  to  the  mountains? " 

"  Could  I  ever  leave  them!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Of 
course,  Linda.  But  I  don't  know  what  I  can  do 
up  here  —  except  maybe  to  establish  my  claim  to 
my  father's  old  farm.  There  's  a  hundred  or  so 
acres.  I  believe  I  'd  like  to  feel  the  handles  of  a 
plow  in  my  palms." 

"  It  was  what  you  were  made  for,  Bruce,"  she 
told  him.  "  It 's  born  in  you.  There  's  a  hundred 
acres  there  —  and  three  thousand  —  somewhere 
else.  You  Ve  got  new  strength,  Bruce.  You 
could  take  hold  and  make  them  yield  up  their  hay 
-  and  their  crops  —  and  fill  all  these  hills  with  the 
herds."  She  stretched  out  her  arms.  Then  all  at 
once  she  dropped  them  almost  as  if  in  supplication. 
But  her  voice  had  regained  the  old  merry  tone  he 
had  learned  to  love  when  she  spoke  again.  "  Bruce, 
have  I  got  to  do  all  the  asking?  " 

His  answer  was  to  stretch  his  great  arms  and 
draw  her  into  them.  His  laugh  rang  in  the  cavern. 

"  Oh,  my  dearest! "  he  cried.     The  eyes  lighted 
in  his  bronzed  face.     "  I   ask  for  everything  - 
everything  —  bold  that  I  am!    And  what  I  want 
worst  —  this  minute  — 

"Yes?" 


308      The  Strength  of  the   Pines 

"  —  Is  just  —  a  kiss." 

She  gave  it  to  him  with  all  the  tenderness  of  her 
soft  lips.  The  snow  sifted  down  outside.  Again 
the  pines  spoke  to  one  another,  but  the  sadness 
seemed  mostly  gone  from  their  soft  voices. 

THE     END 


Love  story,  adventure  story,  nature  story  —  all  three  qualities  combine 

in  this  tale  cf  modern  man  and  woman  arrayed 

against  the  forces  of  age-old  savagery 


THE  VOICE  OF 
THE  PACK 


By  EDISON  MARSHALL 

With  frontispiece  by  W.  Herbert  Dunton 
12mo.         Cloth.         305  pages 


"  "The  Voice  of  the  Pack'  is  clean,  fine,  raw,  bold,  primitive; 
and  has  a  wonderfully  haunting  quality  in  the  repeated  wolf- 
note" — Zone  Grey. 

"Taken  all  around  'The  Voice  of  the  Pack'  is  the  best  of  the 
stories  about  wild  life  that  has  come  out  in  many,  many  moons." 

—  The  Chicago  Daily  News. 

"As  a  story  that  mingles  Adventure,  Nature  Study  and  Ro- 
mance, 'The  Voice  of  the  Pack'  is  undeniably  of  the  front  rank. 
Mr.  Marshall  knows  the  wild  places  and  the  ways  of  the  wild 
creatures  that  range  them  —  and  he  knows  how  to  write.  The 
study  of  Dan  Failing's  development  against  a  background  of 
the  wild  life  of  the  mountains,  is  an  exceedingly  clever  piece  of 
literary  work."  —The  Boston  Herald. 

"An  unusually  good  tale  of  the  West,  evidently  written  by  a 
man  who  knows  about  the  habits  of  the  wolf-packs  and  cougars." 

—  The  New  York  Times. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


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